I was surprised to see Donald Trump honoring the fallen at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
You’d think a guy who famously disparaged an American hero by saying he prefers people who weren’t captured would have little patience with the ultimate quitters.
Is that the kind of joke I’m supposed to suppress if I were to just get over it?
For me, that’s a pretty steep price.
Here are two Facebook posts from yesterday that led one friend to declare “Angry Chris is back.”
• “The self-loathing true conservatives feel at supporting Trump must be akin to what dying vegetarians feel when they realize about to turn zombie.”
• “The self-loathing true conservatives feel at supporting Trump must be akin to what dying vegetarians feel when they realize about to turn zombie.”
• “I don't understand why my racist friends get angry when I point out they are racists. Does it bother me when they say I'm lazy?”
The second one doesn’t even refer to Trump but was seized by racist Trump supporters who resent being informed of possible racism.
Am I angry?
Should I have, in the name of Facebook civility, posted cheerful cat videos instead?
I don’t feel angry.
The American Psychiatric Association says the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I have my own and they have since November 8 been thus: drunkenness, concern, acceptance, bemusement, and sexiness.
Why sexiness?
Because I’m convinced we’re all screwed.
I’m kidding. I can’t resist leaving out even a stupid joke.
I know a lot of very good men and women who voted Trump for very good reasons. They’re sick of the partisan posturing in Washington and think an outsider businessman like Trump can truly drain the swamp. Who can oppose that?
But I also know many truly obnoxious assholes who voted for Trump because he campaigned like a racist, misogynist blowhard who promised he’d bring back jobs digging things like coal, something that made even people who run coal companies chuckle at the fantasy.
I’m hopeful -- honest -- and am enjoying being in the position of not having to defend a president who infuriates half the country.
No matter who won, today was bound to be more of a swearing-at than a swearing-in ceremony.
Under Trump, the country will either prosper or our worst fears will be realized and those of us who loath Trump will be entitled to one of history’s greatest I-told-ya-sos. It’s a win-win.
Really, it’s become like that with every presidential race.
We’ve become a very manic electorate. We’ve been since 1992 on a two-term whiplash. We elect the liberal then the conservative then the liberal then the none-of-the-above.
And, frothing at the mouths, we all press on.
Thinking back on those schizophrenic presidencies makes me wish Billy Joel would compose a 2017 sequel to “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”
History set to music can be very catchy and that which panics timid adults today will in 10 short years be boring children in high school history class.
So I intend to watch the inauguration today because I think something funny is bound to happen, but I also plan to re-watch the brilliant Dave Chappelle SNL monologue from the week after Trump stunned the world.
I want to again see the part where he so eloquently talks about how much we’re going to miss the grace and dignity of Barack Obama and his family, a man whose legitimacy was so viciously questioned by the man who now takes prissy offense at having his presidential legitimacy questioned by others.
Oh, it all promises to be an irony connoisseur’s delight.
You ask me to just get over it?
I hereby decline.
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1 comment:
I recall a song from Lillies of the Field as I read this a great Poitier film.
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