Like many people I know, I got ‘em bad.
November 8, 2016, the date during which American citizens decided who would be their next president, was, at least in Baltimore where I live, a wonderfully crisp fall day. Several hours after I voted, as the results were starting to come in, I noticed that two of the three of us gathered before the LCD screen—my wife, Nirmala, and my nephew, Ranji--looked a little nervous. I, however, remained calm. “Hillary will definitely win, don’t worry—The American people will not elect a pathological narcissist with non-existent impulse control and with very little to offer, other than hyperbole and populist blather."
November 8, 2016, the date during which American citizens decided who would be their next president, was, at least in Baltimore where I live, a wonderfully crisp fall day. Several hours after I voted, as the results were starting to come in, I noticed that two of the three of us gathered before the LCD screen—my wife, Nirmala, and my nephew, Ranji--looked a little nervous. I, however, remained calm. “Hillary will definitely win, don’t worry—The American people will not elect a pathological narcissist with non-existent impulse control and with very little to offer, other than hyperbole and populist blather."
I was wrong, very wrong, about the result. The orange-coiffed populist lost the popular vote, but won the election nevertheless. I hope I will be wrong about Trump's presidency as well, but I seriously doubt that sanguineness would be appropriate here.
Since then, I carry an inner sadness wherever I go. This does not mean that I don’t laugh, or get
absorbed in work, or celebrate family life or get together with friends. I do all that, but when I’m alone again, sadness returns, a sensation of mournfulness similar to the recurring sorrow I felt for a long time after a friend of mine died.
I do not believe that Trump has the temperament or ability to take on the most difficult and powerful job in the world. Maturity? Integrity in a man who was the head of the disgraceful birther movement for years before he took that photo-op ride down an escalator, thus beginning a terrible reality show which people who don’t watch terrible reality shows cannot turn off, because it’s now part of their lives? How did we all get sucked into the other side of the screen? Four years of bad programming without a break—even a commercial for the latest drug to unplug the impacted would look good now.
Someone far less mature than Dorothy will soon be challenged by Putins and Palins and ISIS's dares--oh, my! I admit it, I'm scared. (I predict that after two or three years, perhaps even earlier, his base, the white working class, will be so enraged at his failure to "make America great again" that a majority of those who supported him will have a severe case of voters' remorse. Worse things than that can happen, and likely will. I also predict, however, that we'll all get by somehow, diminished, yet alive).
I refuse, however, to spend more time than necessary sleeping on a comfy bed. I intend to spend many waking hours standing up for what I believe in. My motto: I’m too old to argue and too young
to give up.
I’m retired and shy and have very little influence and
power. (I hope you, dear reader, are in a
position to do far more important things than I--Please proceed!) Still, in this public excerpt from a private diary, hoping to inspire insects and eagles to fly a little higher, a wounded yet ardent believer in the butterfly effect promises the following:
1. From now
on, I’m a White Ambassador—If I ever hear anyone who looks like me denigrate
anyone who doesn’t, I will politely and vociferously disagree.
2. I will reserve time to work as a volunteer to do
some good for others.
3. I will contribute to charities that support neighbors threatened by
Trump’s transient regime.
4. I will not demonize any group, including that of
the white working class, out of which I came.
S Since people who think like me will be singing
the blues for the next four years, I’ll
be playing the blues on the piano as well.
Lots of practice--and reading and writing--ahead. (I’ll be
posting my attempts on YouTube to keep a record of my progress. You’re kindly invited to ignore them all.)
La lucha continua—Sin armas y sin rencor!
First Example of The Small Hand Blues, November 27, 2016
After the November 2016 U.S. election, I realized that I will be singing the blues for the next four years--so I might as well play them as well. Every two months or so, I will record and post an edition of "The Small Hands Blues." The present recording gives ample evidence that I am terrible at blues playing at the moment, and need lots of practice and training. Let's see what progress four years can bring. The last sentence can be applied to presidential progress as well. I'd like to be optimistic; I'd like not to have full confidence in Mr. Trump's lack of ability.and lack of civility. Even since he led the birther movement, however, I've believed I have his number, and it's very close to zero. What to do? Practice: you're gonna be playing the blues for a long time!
First Example of The Small Hand Blues, November 27, 2016
After the November 2016 U.S. election, I realized that I will be singing the blues for the next four years--so I might as well play them as well. Every two months or so, I will record and post an edition of "The Small Hands Blues." The present recording gives ample evidence that I am terrible at blues playing at the moment, and need lots of practice and training. Let's see what progress four years can bring. The last sentence can be applied to presidential progress as well. I'd like to be optimistic; I'd like not to have full confidence in Mr. Trump's lack of ability.and lack of civility. Even since he led the birther movement, however, I've believed I have his number, and it's very close to zero. What to do? Practice: you're gonna be playing the blues for a long time!
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