Entry 536: Not That Schlubby

After the election was called for Biden, I saw the same joke several times on Twitter in reference to Kamala Harris' husband Doug Emhoff -- something to the effect of "Finally, a moment in the sun for schlubby Jewish men with far more impressive wives."  It's supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, tweeted by other "schlubby" Jewish men (who apparently have impressive wives).  But it's actually a humblebrag.  Saying your wife is more impressive than you or "out of your league" or, if you're a football fan, saying you "outkicked your coverage" in the spouse department is totally tooting your own horn, because it's your wife you talking about.  If an amazing, incredible person picks you to be their life partner then that obviously reflects well on you.  I kinda hate this sort of humblebrag, but a lot of guys do it -- I've probably even done it myself -- so I usually just let it slide.

But here's the bigger problem I have with this joke: Doug Emhoff isn't that schlubby.  In fact, he doesn't appear to be schlubby at all.  He's a totally normal looking, you might even say good-looking, fiftysomething man.  He's not Donal Logue.  (There's a deep cut for you.  Remember him?)  I mean, if you were a middle-aged woman, and you were on a dating app, and you came across the guy below, would you be, like, Ugh... look at that schlub?  Probably not.

The better joke: Finally a moment in the sun for the husbands of successful, beautiful South Indian women.  Now if only I could be second gentleman someday.

In other political news, every major network has now made a projection in every state.  Biden ends up with 306 electoral votes, plenty more than the 270 he needs to be president.  Nothing is finalized yet -- that happens over the next month or so -- but there doesn't appear to be anything anybody can do to change the result, no matter how amoral or corrupt they are.  There will be recounts in a few states, but recounts typically change the vote total by a few hundred votes, at most.  Biden is leading by over 10,000 votes in every state in which he's the projected winner.  Law suits to disqualify votes are not going anywhere and wouldn't change the outcome even if they were.  (They seem to be entirely for show, often focusing on, again, no more than a few hundred votes.)  This means the only way things could potentially flip is if state officials try to monkey with their electors in the presidential college, and it doesn't seem like there is any serious appetite to go this route, and it's probably not even legal to do so, anyway.  So, I think Biden-Harris is going to happen.  I mean, I'm still going to have nagging doubts until inauguration day, but that's so much better than how I felt on this date four years ago.

Alright, enough election talk for a bit.

I had an MRI done on my shoulder this evening.  As I've mentioned before, it's been bothering me for years.  I think it's tendinitis (because that's what the specialist thinks), but it's been going on so long that I decided to get an MRI, if only to rule out the possibility of a tear or other structural damage.  It'll be nice to know either way.  I hate getting MRIs though.  I've had three done now in my life, and they're always torture.  I mean that literally: If you wanted to torture me, putting me in a little box and preventing me from moving would be a good way to go.  It's so hard to stay perfectly still too.  I thought I was doing an excellent job, and then I got chastised through the headphones for moving.  Whatever.  The whole thing only last 30 minutes, eight songs.  That's how I marked the time.  (The play list was very calming -- The Cranberries, Fleetwood Mac, Roberta Flack.) Now, it's over.

And speaking of over, I'm going to stop here.  I have a few more topics on my mental docket, but I'm very tired and a bit hungry.  I want to eat a bowl of granola and then go to bed.

Until next time...