SO not my president
Please don’t admonish me for not giving Trump a chance or remind me the office of the president deserves my respect or scold me for being a sore loser. Many thought leaders have emerged to eloquently rally the troops. I’m just not one of them. I’m not a noble statesman who has to lead by example. I simply can’t forgive or forget the horrible things he’s said and done. I don’t have children or grandchildren to mold. It’s just me coming out from under the covers, drying my eyes and exercising my First Amendment right before the cheater of the free world appoints a Supreme Court to abolish this precious freedom.
Twice I took the route of patriotic acceptance. In 2000 Al Gore won the popular vote and (I believe) also won the election. But hanging chads in Florida sent the decision to our highest court. George W. Bush was declared president, thanks to the sunshine state where his brother, Jeb, was governor. I never used the word rigged. It sure was fishy. But I accepted it. I called Dubya my president.
And four years later, the election was rocked again. President Bush got reelected after taking our country to Iraq in an unjust war. My friend in London sent me a copy of the infamous Daily Mirror cover that read, “How can 59,054,087 people be so DUMB?” Exactly! I was stunned and embarrassed. But I didn’t cry or feel deep despair. Families and life-long friendships didn’t implode. People didn’t suddenly fear for their lives. We recognized George W. Bush as our (dumb) president.
But the third time is no charm. More like a cursed nightmare. 2016’s headline could be, “How can 60,350,24 people vote on the side of RACISM, MISOGYNY, BIGOTRY, ISLAMOPHOBIA, PLANET ABUSE and HATE?”
Don’t get me wrong. Unlike the Obama-haters, I’m not rooting for Trump to fail. Because that would mean we all fail. I’m looking for a path to survival. I am dealing with this by refusing to acknowledge it.
My first stage of grief was “impeach and humiliate the bastard.” But then I thought about Mike Pence moving up the food chain — along with his stone-age views on LGBT rights, women’s health, abortion, Planned Parenthood, immigration and the environment. I aborted that plan while I still could.
For now I’m stuck in stage two — big time avoidance. I know he is president-elect. I’m just trying not to think about it, which is tough for this self-proclaimed news junkie. I started my days with Moaning Joe, settled into the evenings with Rachel and kicked off my weekends with Joy. I couldn’t get enough Van Jones and Jake Tapper. The most I could talk myself into was a weekly visit with Chris Wallace, but I did that too. Now I’m limiting myself. I watched the pussy grabber seated next to President Obama in the White House only once. And that was with a hand over one eye and the sound off, same way I watch “The Walking Dead.”
In addition to limiting exposure to our future Commander In Cheetos, avoiding cable news puts daylight between me and the likes of Kellyanne Conway, Rudy Giuliani, Jack Kingston, General Michael Flynn, Ivanka, Uday, Qusay and Omarosa.
I am trading MSNBC and CNN for HBO, Amazon Prime and Netflix. Ironically I’ve found solace in Netflix’s third season of “The Fall,” a British thriller about a sexual predator who tortures and murders his victims. I’m not proud of it, but this is where I am.
Of course my vow to ignore Trump’s presidency changes nothing. But in my small way I’m giving him the same respect he gives women, African Americans, Muslims, Mexicans, Gold Star Families, journalists and the disabled. And that gives me power over the situation. It’s working for me. For now.
Hopefully the next four years will fly by and many of us will find ways to cope and even thrive. I’ll continue to stand in solidarity with the Trump-targeted disenfranchised and care about what’s going on in the world. I will get my updates via Breaking News alerts like the one that just pinged my iPad. Oh for fuck sake, President-elect Turd just named disgusting, anti-Semitic, racist Steve Bannon as his chief strategist. So much for setting a conciliatory tone. And so much for anybody questioning my crappy attitude.
Canada? Nah, I’d rather move to Westworld.