Ammo Grrrll provides the intriguing title WHERE THERE IS NO MAN. She writes:
Before I explain the title of this column, let me “circle back” to the irrational exuberance when The First Black President was elected. As some of you may remember, I did not vote for him. I knew just what a steaming pile of disaster The Lowerer of Oceans was going to be from having spent a decade in the radical movement with others of his mindset.
In my “lived experience,” Community Organizers – though nobody was very specific about exactly WHAT Barack Hussein had ever organized in his life – tended to be long on ego and grandiosity and short on details, scut-work, follow-through or self-correction when their ideas turned out to yield disastrous results.
But, oh, the excitement, the drooling publicity, that smug face on the cover of every magazine! Heretofore sane women waxed poetic about the First Lady’s arms. And some certifiable journalists, some with Advanced Restless Leg Syndrome, and others trying to ratchet up the obsequiousness, compared him to God, if only God had had the foresight to wear trousers with a nice crease. The excitement built to a fever pitch when the Obamas planned a Date Night out! But that paled in comparison to the anticipation when the First Family was going to get a dog. That story was milked for over two weeks – what breed of dog? What would the dog be named? (Bo.) And so on, and so forth, for eight tedious years.
In 2016 the All-In Democrat Legacy Media next geared up for The First Woman President. Now, unfortunately, the Woman they were fixin’ to crown was a carpetbagging Senator, a Secretary of State who had failed to protect American citizens abroad, and a nasty piece of work with a slight drinking problem who called half the electorate Deplorable. Half! Not even to mention that the last time she occupied the White House, she and her husband-like substance had turned the Lincoln Bedroom into an Airbnb for bigshot donors. She lost.
And so the winner, winner, chicken dinner, Donald J. Trump, and his family moved into The White House. The new First Lady was a beautiful supermodel with impeccable taste in clothes, considerably more photogenic than, oh, ANY of the previous First Ladies, and should have been considered somewhat interesting in her personal journey from a child in Slovenia to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. But, no. There was a RICO-worthy agreement by every media outlet to avoid “normalizing” this family. No covers for the cover girl. It was to be attack, attack, attack, like a pack of rabid Dobermans only without the classic Doberman charm.
Melania’s Christmas decorations were bad; she wore HIGH HEELS to a disaster site (changed on the plane); she borrowed some language from speeches written FOR (certainly not BY) previous First Ladies. Her “Be Best” campaign wasn’t nearly as good as the “Eat Arugula and Play Outside for an Hour, Fatties” campaign of Michelle Obama. NOTHING Melania did was ever good enough. Psychotic Twitter twits called for her rape, and the abuse of her young son. Yet, somehow, she never once shot anyone at a news conference.
There was an election in 2020. A senile kleptocrat and bar-failing VP of some beige-ish tan color who captured 4 percent of the Democrat primary were elected, more or less. And here comes the first puff piece and cover from People Magazine, whose articles are reputed to be the exact length necessary to read on the porcelain convenience. What a coup! They snagged a big interview with Dr. Jill Biden canoodling with Lunchbox Joe, perennially a bridesmaid, and now, at long last, a bride! And what insights, what genius from Mrs. Big Guy! The mind reels.
OMG, you guys, NOBODY has ever before talked about how women have to balance career and family! She had a hard time, she told People, because she came from a family of five girls and had never been around boys when she married the widowed Joe. “Hunter,” said Dr. Jill, evidently with a straight face, “was a messy, sweaty boy.” No kidding.
NOBODY UNTIL NOW has dared to say to working women: “Take some time for yourself.”
Oh wait. This has been a theme since about 1970, which is a mere HALF FLIPPIN’ CENTURY ago. I agree with Whoopi – make this genius doctor the Surgeon General.
Watch this segue, now, kids. Are you a stressed-out working woman looking for something to do to “take time for yourself”? No? Are you a retired woman who has binge-watched every episode of Downton Abbey and everything on Lifetime during this pandemic? Are you a manly MAN who has exhausted Die Hards, John Wickes, all the Takens, and is debating whether to borrow your brother-in-law’s Fast and Furious collection or just lie down in front of a train?
Then, have I got a deal for you! Max Cossack has been – praise God! – working in his room with his door shut for several hours a day for many months on Book 5 in his highly entertaining The Wilder Bunch series. The new release is called Where There Is No Man and no, it’s NOT a futuristic novel about the more extreme feminists ruling the world.
The title comes from one of the most famous Talmudic passages: “In a place where there is no man, you be the man.” A timely admonition 2,000 years old, give or take, to do the right thing, to “man up.” And never needed more than today.
This is a page-turning novel about count-on guys, including a Muslim former slave turned lawyer, partnered with a notorious Jewish fighter for the underdog. Not to mention a brilliant desert-savvy codger, and Hack Wilder himself, a beleaguered tech wizard with a pregnant wife and a struggling country band. It takes a village to combat the all-too-familiar powerful bullies in America today, a village of righteous men. Quite a few of whom are women.
No, not the pretend women smashing all the records –- and not a few women’s heads — in women’s sports. ACTUAL women, tough, strong, courageous, competent women who are just as determined to fight totalitarian bullies as are the men whose aid they enlist.
Spoiler alert: Max Cossack is, among many other things, a hopeless romantic. So though his books feature adventures in the deserts of Arizona or the frozen tundra of Minnesota, though there are occasional guns blazing and swashes buckling, he also writes female characters really well. And not JUST because I am his main proofreader with an arsenal of red pens and guns with red dots. He loves and respects women and it shows. Buy this book from Amazon today. Not just for the few bucks we may garner; not just for the enjoyment in reading it. No. Do it for Dr. Jill. So you can proudly say to her, “Yes, Dr.! I took some time for myself. Thank you, Dr., for that idea which never would have occurred to me!”