Park Record columnist
“It’s like a beaver’s teeth – he has to chew or else his jaws lock shut.” ~ Wallace Stegner
Wow, the debate just ended! And, in retrospect, I‘m not really all that sure that continuing the booze-fast, which began on a red-eye out of Lihue last Wednesday when the attendant absconded with what was left of my double-scotch, was something I would care to repeat.
Don’t get me wrong, even sobriety couldn’t dampen the pleasure I experienced at the hands of Donald and Hillary Monday evening. It’s just that some events are fashioned more with a slightly higher coefficient of inebriation in mind.
In fact, let me just state right here that, for the next Presidential debate, my liquor cabinet doors will indeed be flung open throughout what should be quite the verbal donnybrook.
Historically, if I’m at home and a Presidential debate is filling the small screen, the TV mute button is usually enabled and something akin to “Thelonious Monk & John Coltrane Live at Carnegie Hall” or Waylon Jennings’ “This Time” is fully cranked on the old 8-track.
But Monday, right out of the chute, I got sucked in. What can I say? They had me at “Hello.” The jury is still out on whether or not the introduction of a cask-aged spirit would have changed that outcome. I don’t believe it would have. I was “meant” to sit through that — whatever it was. A prelude to a tango, possibly.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Donald, especially when Hillary was speaking. The term “Claymation” came to mind and wouldn’t budge. He had an earnestness that played out from his chin upward, jerking from mouth and tongue to subtly flaring nostrils and darting eyes.
The bushy brows and prematurely-orange hair which usually headline the act remained relatively passive until things really got rolling. But from then on, Groucho would have been hard-pressed to keep up. For some reason, the word “stamina” kept echoing in my head.
I can’t wait to catch Utah Republican spin-doctors take a swing at the affair. All of a sudden, Donald doesn’t seem to be such a horrid creature to that bunch. In fact, they are flocking to him in droves and limousines — virtually supplicating on their knees, as it were.
By the way, you’ve got some explaining to do. I leave the house for a brief few weeks of tropical rehab only to return and find U.S. Senator Mike Lee of Utah on Trump’s short list for a Supreme Court nomination. Can’t I leave you guys alone for a minute?
I mean, how badly does this dude figure he needs the Beehive State’s electoral votes in his column? I do understand, however, that the lower-case-honorable Mr. Lee does in fact possess the necessary malleability within his ever-shrinking integrity reservoir to lose his religion over the mere hint of a lifetime gig.
I suppose, what with his buddy Senator Ted Cruz of Texas now fully embedded in the Trump camp, the philosophical leaps involved in such a shift are negligible. I’m not sure that, as of yet, Sen. Lee has completed the required pendulum swings that would stamp him as being officially part of Donald’s team, but such antics do appear to be on the horizon.
If he were to jump through those hoops, however, would that not make it so that each and every Utah politician that originally shunned Trump, have now shown their true colors and fallen in line? Methinks that, if he indeed takes the state this November, it will say much more about Utah than about him.
What were we talking about again? I seem to have lost my train of thought. Just goes to show you what can happen when the ol’ Stamina-Depletion-Syndrome catches up to you.
Wouldn’t you say that Donald exuded a wonderfully aromatic white manliness about him throughout the discourse? None of that weak feminine inclination to define terms or include logic for this dude. Give me a white guy that figures he can bluster his way through Boolean algebra any day of the week.
Excuse me while I inventory my stash. I’m in training for the next debate, you know. Stamina is everything! Especially in one of those long tempo-jumping tangos that seem all the rage this year.
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.
$110.7 million could be spent on doing a lot more good than just the acquisition of a Monet, Tom Clyde writes.