Jay Meehan: Independent whims
Park Record columnist
“There is no ballin’ like pinballin’…” —Kranny and Kubee
Let’s see, now. I just want to get this right. If data from any source, foreign or domestic, disagrees with the momentary rapture of our president, it is either a lie, fake news, the product of a conspiracy, or bleeding profusely and sadly from the seams.
And, also, near as I can understand it, it’s copasetic for the individual standing closest to the data stream to be immediately terminated and any and all associates, whether from third-grade recess or Saturday afternoon contract bridge gatherings, figuratively decapitated on Fox News.
Naturally, any and all Cabinet departments within the federal construct, whether deemed to be in alliance with the blameworthy or not, may be dissolved and simmered in nasty golf-ball-washer fluid (no telling where that stuff has been) until they have disappeared from the collective memory.
It’s a jungle out there and acquiring loincloths or O. J. Simpson model gloves in sizes larger than our president’s has also become suspect. There is a money trail, don’t forget. You can run but you cannot hide. And even if you did manage to escape detection, that country young Vito Corleone went on the lam and doesn’t appear to exist anymore.
I really have no business waxing cynically or, for that matter, sarcastically, when demonizing ol’ Idiot Wind in particular or orangeness in general. I mean: What do I know? Really! I don’t even have a “Twitter” account. Or, at least to my knowledge, if I do, it’s never been used.
I do know one thing. I’m able to lie awake all night attempting to think of even one concept with which I’m in agreement with The Donald and the money changers who do his thinking for him. Let me tell you this, as a cure for insomnia, it sucks. These sheep, who continually get their privates caught on the top rail, never clear the fence.
Even though I’m well aware that he doesn’t believe in any God other than the almighty Ruble, I’ve got to question a moral baseline that can’t grasp climate change and its relationship to fossil fuels. And with the impending Trump regime task force dead set on pulling back the curtain on hoax-ridden science in general and accrued climate data in particular, improvements in that area don’t appear forthcoming.
It goes back to Trump’s graduate degree in Joseph McCarthy with a minor in Roy Cohn (or is it the other way around?). The bluster of the incongruous always wins out over the quietude of logic. Have you now or have you ever been a card-carrying member of your local library?
And how about the NRA ad characterizing those who find fault with his inanities as enemies of the state, demons who should be rubbed out by card-carrying members of their organization. Those who continue to subscribe to the notion that possession of automatic weapons is guaranteed by the constitution might want to acquire an alternate translation. The cloak of false patriotism can only mask ignorance in the short term.
Not that I don’t find the current fusillade of slings and arrows from the right accusing Democrats and those in “The Resistance” of abandoning their roles as good citizens by utilizing “grassroots political warfare” to be equally pathetic. How, in retrospect, would they characterize their own treatment of the Obama agenda?
Actually, if the truth be known, I’ve never been a fan of tossing Trump out on his ear. I find those with whom he’s surrounded himself in the chain of succession to be at least as scary in the role as he. Why reward the Republicans for attaching their future to such a seemingly imbecilic nut.
You want Pence, a right wing, evangelical ideologue, in his stead? You gotta be kidding. At least Trump, with his inverted policy aerials, is not in their back pocket. He is no rubber stamp for the current conservative policy agenda. As right wing as his current cabinet choices have been, his policy flip-flops make him an unreliable partner. Incompetence is as incompetence does.
So here I sit, befuddled to the max. How did I get here? You got me. To be honest, although I enjoy writing about my liquor cabinet and the fallout thereof, access to lubricants therein is seldom breached. Admittedly, however, during the heretofore relatively short duration of the Trump regime, it has sang a siren’s call. Not that I’m a difficult seduction, but so far I’ve kept my distance.
I should mention that I did succumb to its wiles over the weekend however, and, with assorted friends of the musical persuasion, got into some distilled agave of the anejo persuasion. Felt good. Although somewhere north of bulletproof, actually great! I could have been a contender! I could have been a pinball wizard!
Jay Meehan is a culture junkie and has been an observer, participant and chronicler of the Park City and Wasatch County social and political scenes for more than 40 years.
“Even the dogs were celebrating the reemergence of the sun.”