Calling CRS What It Is

I have many concerns today, but one of the most important concerns our Attorney General's terminal case of CRS, as in "can't remember shit."

The sheer number of times that man's answer amounted to, "Not that I recall" or "I don't recall that" was nothing short of jaw-dropping, even for a 70-year old. When he said, "I don't want to be rushed this fast. It makes me nervous," he sounded doddering and old, as if keeping up with rapid fire questioning was beyond him.

Remind me, please, how long Hillary sat - cool, calm and collected - answering endless questions and we'll go from there.

How is it okay to have a man in charge of the U.S. Justice Department who a) was named after the president of the Confederacy and the general who bombarded Fort Sumter, thus starting the Civil War and b) who has zero ability to recall, well, anything of importance?

A woman can watch only so much of that testimony on the tiny video of her computer before needing to seek the solace of others as outraged as she is. I took shelter at Camden's because there I knew I'd find the TV on and the vocal critics of questionable AGs in attendance.

As a bonus, I got to hear from the recent Bonnaroo attendee about his sore 20-year old body, the result of four days of twerking non-stop while on mushrooms. Ah, youth.

As I'd anticipated, of all the bands he saw, it was The XX's show that he deemed truly epic. He was particularly scathing about the Red Hot Chili Peppers all but phoning in their performance and dubbed U2 merely "good."

And for this people are willing to live in a field and bathe in a fountain for four days? I think not. And don't get me started on the guy taking a glitter bath - is that like birds taking a dirt bath?

On the latest in a string of ungodly hot days, few things could have been as appealing as a salad special of chilled shrimp and radishes with micro-greens and Meyer lime for piquancy. When the bartender-turned-IT student who sat down nearest me ordered the same, his enthusiasm for the spot-on summer combination matched mine exactly.

Watching the analysis of Sessions' testimony threaded through with election results ensured that the bar sitters (and occasionally, those paying their check nearby) kept up a running commentary about unfolding events. My favorite had to be Pelosi saying that she thinks the narcissist is going to self-impeach, an appealing outcome if ever there was one.

Speaking of narcissists, the subject came up closer to home when a woman mentioned that her father was one and pulled out a photo of him modeling to prove it.

Although bearded and dressed in appropriate lumberjack attire, she assured us he'd never so much as cut off a tree branch. But he's got a great Dad beard and apparently they're in high demand as the beard grooming industry moves into the coveted and expanding bearded Boomer demographic.

My Cava-fueled dinner continued with a perfectly lovely flounder over white beans and greens, a plate I would have licked clean if I'd not already done the same to its shrimp and radish predecessor.

Discussion of today's events inevitably drew in other customers, my favorite being the woman who overheard me questioning the wisdom of an AG with CRS and felt gratified since that had been a major sticking point for her as well.

It was while enjoying a chocolate pate with nut crust ("Let's just call it what it is," implored the bartender-turned-IT student, "Fudge!") that we dove into the subject of the white patriarchy (hello, Republicans repeatedly interrupting Senator Kamala Harris for her audacity to press Sessions on not answering her questions) and how, amazingly, there are still people who deny such a state exists.

Of course, there are still those who fail to acknowledge that the Confederates were committing treason, so I shouldn't be surprised at any sort of deniers, I suppose.

My good fortune was having a terrific meal with a rotating company of similarly-minded voters dropping in and out of a wide-ranging conversation about the state of this administration. With comparisons in mind, someone piped up asking how long Watergate lasted and two of us were quick to recall, "An entire summer."

With no precedent for self-impeachment, looks like we'll have to just wait and see, an excruciating proposition.

Surrounding myself with good food and like-minded liberals makes it somehow easier to bear.

Chocolate pate doesn't hurt, either.