Monday Musings (v1)

My most recent post was published six days ago. (In case you missed it, you can read it here.) Since then, I've sat down at least once a day, every day, and tried to write another one. I've put fingers to keyboard so many times in the past six days, I can't even count them all. And I've come up empty.

I've done my research, bookmarked articles, pulled quotes, and looked for confirmation of what I've found. I've crawled into left-leaning rabbit holes, right-leaning rabbit holes, and I've even tried to find an actual rabbit hole in the garden, just in case that was more appealing than the alternative: trying to put thoughts on paper in follow up to my last post.

Because I think it needs a followup, I really do. Here's what I said, in part:

The president continues to try and convince us he's not a racist. "Not a racist bone in his body" we're told, even though his comments over recent years could inspire a person like me to think otherwise.

What's a person like me? Someone who was born here, someone who votes in every election, someone who tries to pay attention to what's going on locally, at the state level, and in Washington DC. Someone who understands that she has a right to complain about the state of things in this country - a guaranteed right to do exactly that, in fact. Someone who is proud of her country, even as it frustrates her.

And later in the post,

I think it would be hard for someone to spew this stuff day after day, week after week, month after month, without actually believing it. I don't believe he is an actor of any skill, any more than (at least so far) he's proven himself to be a great deal-maker, or that he's shown he can "act presidential."

He believes what he says, I'm sure - and he believes in what he says, I'm equally sure. And in that regard, his transition is complete. Trump is the president of the deplorables.

He may still be the president of some (or all) of the other 50% that Clinton mentioned, but we will only know them by their condemnation of his blatantly racist tweets. 

And, of course, that condemnation did not come.

It did not come from elected officials, it did not come from regular folks on social media, it didn't come from my friends and family. What came, for the most part, was silence. And those who were not silent? They 'clarified' what the president said. They 'interpreted' what the president said. They 'reinforced' what the president said about our fellow Americans. They obfuscated and denied and ran away from reporters, friends, and family. Hands were wrung. Hearts were clutched. Milquetoast comments were delivered, along the lines of "Gee, I wish he would tweet less." Strong stuff right there.

In preparing yesterday's unwritten Sunday School post, I watched with disgust folks like Trump immigration guru Steven Miller push back against Chris Wallace yesterday on Fox News Sunday. Similarly, Mercedes Schlapp, who's with the Trump campaign, used almost exactly the same language in her conversation with George Stephanopoulos on This Week.

Texas Senator Lyin' Ted Cruz took it one step further on Firing Line with Margaret Hoover. While he refused to respond to Hoover's repeated attempts to get him to agree that when a Republican acts badly, it's the responsibility of conservatives to call them out for it, he simultaneously stuck out his chest and patted himself on the back for speaking out against a war hero (and the slave-trading First Grand Wizard of the KKK) being celebrated in Tennessee - as required by state law. 

That took some real courage right there, I'm thinking. But don't even ask him to say something bad about the president who called him an Anchor Baby, no siree.

I watched all of that, and more, and scoured my conscience, and  still couldn't get the words out.

So, what's a blocked writer to do?

Stumble upon an article, courtesy of The Onion, from another Monday in October 2017, that's what.

Here are a couple of excerpts from this (ahem) message from the president, which starts with a recitation of what he's focused on, and then goes on to say

But beyond all that, what I'm looking forward to the most is another seven days of infecting every little aspect of your daily lives. 

Oh, you thought you might be able to block me out for even a moment? Good luck with that one. There will be no rest from having to think about me, or my administration, or the latest controversy I've thrown myself into. I am inescapable. My name, my face, my voice, my words, and those of my legions of surrogates - no matter how much you try to go about your normal life, I will find a way to force myself in. MAGA!

As if that wasn't enough, it continues

... I get true joy knowing that somewhere out there, someone is just looking through their refrigerator or chatting with their family, or waiting in line to buy groceries, and I suddenly weasel my way into their brain and ratchet up their stress about not only the future of this country, but also the rest of the world. It's a different joy than how I felt as a private citizen, when only a small percentage of people were constantly nauseated by the mere mention of my name.

It's  much, much, much better. 

There's more, of course - because there's always more with Donald Trump, even a satirical impersonation of Donald Trump.

But having read the entire thing, I know what I need to do now: immerse myself in death metal, until no light shines in and there's no room for the president to force himself in.

No seriously - I know what I need to do now, but it has nothing to do with death metal. The 30 seconds I listened to were as painful as, well, as painful as listening to the president.

Talk to you tomorrow.