Politics

Feeling Trumped. (But I’m Almost Done.)

Shelley Stolaroff Segal4 Comments

There’s a reason I haven’t contributed to this blog in well over a year. And with a plethora of SENTIMENTS ABOUT FAMILY, SOCIETY, AND DUMBFOUNDING HUMAN BEHAVIOR, there’s really no excuse. It’s not that I haven’t been writing—as paralyzed and hopeless as I’ve been feeling for the past 1109 days—it’s just that every time I start to unload on my computer I’m incited by another ridiculous, jaw-dropping political event, and my blood pressure goes up. I have to stop clicking in preparation for the sleazy, salacious details. Am I “shocked” about the latest national insult? Of course not. Demoralized, but never surprised.

I know I’m not the only one who’s been stuck in mud and despondent over our president’s antics. I have plenty of friends who’ve re-enameled their teeth because they’ve gritted them so much for the past three years. (That’s actually a lie, I don’t even know if there’s a procedure for that except for wearing one of those horse-bit things at night.) But I do know people who, like me, have taken to the bed only to throw their covers over their heads and pray that it’s just been an ugly, protracted dream.

I mean—and I know you’ve heard this before—it’s just that when you compound Trump’s behaviors with the sins of his relentless defenders—and they’re buzzing all over the place like worker bees—you wonder how the country will ever recover and regain its equilibrium. You attempt to hold on to your personal guardrails and remain stable in a republic you don’t recognize anymore. One that is morphing into an autocracy every day. This shit keeps me up at night. As well as the 24-hour news cycle.

I must liberate myself from the tyranny that is Trump. I’ve given my power over to him and I’m ashamed of myself. Besides, I have too much work piling up. And I don’t care if I sound melodramatic about all this. I’m a dramatist after all, so it’s okay. But more importantly, I’m an uber patriot, daughter of a double war veteran who’s just heartbroken about the current state of our union. I don’t care how good the economy is. (Don’t repeat that to my husband.) If I scratch my head one more time about the dumbfounding things I’ve witnessed lately I’ll need hair replacement soon. (Like tomorrow.)

Yes, you’ve heard all of this before. I swear I’ll refrain from posting anything else about our Useful-Idiot-In-Chief. I won’t mention his breathlessly corrupt colleagues, his turkey-necked partner-in-crime, McConnell, his treasonous, two-faced toady, Lindsay Graham, and the rest of the sycophantic turncoats in Congress. I won’t mention my disgust over the neutered impeachment trial, or the clear and present danger of Fox and Friends, The Hannity File, The Ingraham Angle, The Rush Limbaugh Show, and the Lou Dobbs whatever.

Yes, I’m done feeling Trumped, it’s just too unhealthy. I mean it. And you better damn well bet I’m taking it to the ballot box. Hell, I don’t care if the democratic nominee is Tarzan, he’ll get my vote. He’s certainly smarter and more civilized than the malignancy in office now. Take heart patriots and international friends, an election is upon us, and the American nightmare will soon be over! That’s what I tell myself anyway, when I finally cast off my covers, ready to face another unpredictable, “shocking” day.

 

I Want to be a Pundit When I Grow Up

Shelley Stolaroff SegalLeave a comment

One of my guilty pleasures throughout the day, the evening, and in the wee hours is to retread the political news.  I record all of my favorite news programs, or “shows” in the morning so that I may consume them conveniently all day long.  I never get tired of watching.  How sad.

I used to think it was because I was addicted to the election, but now I’m beginning to realize that what I’m addicted to are the pundits. (Yes, that is sad.) They are comfortably middle-aged, for the most part, and very very wise. I know all of the talking heads by name on my favorite networks and several more on my least favorite networks.  I don’t discriminate, I watch and listen to everyone.  Even if I end up throwing my bagel at the TV.

In fact, there are a few people I can’t wait to see, and when they appear I get excited.  “Oh look!  So and So, my favorite political contributor is on!”  Or, “Isn’t that So and So, the former strategist?”  I want to be a So and So.  I used to think I wanted to be a movie star, but I believe my true calling is to be a pundit.

Do I need any special training for this?  I don’t think so.  Yes, I realize that most pundits are former strategists, or politicians, or legal analysts, or political historians.  But can’t I just rely on my big mouth and big opinions?  Not to sound grandiose, but I know more than most of these people, and that’s just the plain truth.  Ask anyone in my family or anyone unfortunate enough to sit next to me at my kitchen table.  I know what’s going to come out of a pundit’s mouth before they do.

Sometimes I picture myself sitting up there at one of those round tables, or on one of those uncomfortable stools adjusting my skirt–just sitting there, laughing with the other guests, waiting to be called on.  I could do it, I just know I could.  And if I contributed something truly witty or keen I would beam on the inside with pride.

Of course, the flip side is uttering something that’s not intelligent or original.  The kind of tripe that’s not worthy of a cable news program.  I know the worst offenders and I hate it when they come on.  “Oh God, not So and So again, she’s such an idiot!” Or “Why do they keep asking him to come on?  He’s a relic.  And an idiot.”

Of course, that’s the sticking point.  Looking like an idiot.  You don’t have to necessarily be an idiot to look like one.  And in true narcissistic, movie star form I would loathe looking like an idiot.  I would make damn sure I knew the issues inside and out.  I mean, who would actually appear on a news program and not be prepared, prepped, or informed? Who would have the nerve to go on the air before the American people and not know anything?  Would anyone be immature enough to think they could rely simply on their charm or bluster to fool the American electorate?

But I digress.  I don’t think being a pundit is in the stars for me.  I believe that ship has sailed.  I’ll have to content myself with chatting to my TV screen only.  To keeping my righteous indignation to myself.  To depriving the public of my wisdom.  To swallowing my factual opinions, only to regurgitate them later when my husband comes home.  What a shame.  Anderson, I am a grown up, (for the most part) but you’ll just have to do without me for now.

Just Hold Your Nose and Vote

Shelley Stolaroff SegalLeave a comment

This has been an unpresidented campaign season. We the People still have no idea who will be occupying the oval office next January. No one has hit their delegate count yet, and political fervor and favor morph every day. It’s still true that a candidate will say and do just about anything for a vote, but the pandering has hit a new level. I’ve seen hyperbole on both sides of the aisle, and enough locker room vulgarity to last me until the next election cycle. Nothing is shocking anymore, nothing is surprising. Except for maybe the fact that this year is unknowable and unpredictable. Even the polls are getting everything—including us—wrong. I yearn for the days when you could walk down the streets of your town and profile your fellow citizens perfectly. You could nail them—what their religion was, where they liked to eat, what their hobbies were, where they liked to shop, what music they enjoyed, and so on, by their political yard sign.

I remember what I said to my daughter years ago when she asked me why I didn’t park closer to a convenience store way off the highway in the North Carolina countryside. I rolled my foreign car into an obscure spot under about 32 trees. It was an election year and I told her I didn’t want to offend anyone with my bumper stickers. In reality, I didn’t want anyone to key scratch my car when we were inside the store.

Now, you can’t presume anything about an individual based on the candidate they’re supporting. Even if it seems obvious. As a nation most of us have been forced to settle a bit when it comes to our current crop of candidates. You might vote for someone in a primary just because they are the lesser of two, three, or four evils. You might vote for one candidate simply to negate another. There are exceptions of course. I’ve already spotted a few unapologetic Bernie signs around town. They’ve been mounted by the young, the idealistic, and the vegan. Okay, that’s not fair, but I like to stereotype. (However, my teenage daughter is a relentless Feel the Bern fan and she’s been a vegetarian for over five years now.)

The great irony of all this is that I’m old enough to remember wearing Nehru collars, maxi dresses, and elephant bell pants. I listened to the Cowsills, collected Aquarius posters, and filled my room with incense and peppermints. And I’m still not 100% sure of my vote. Is it because I also own a pair of cowboy boots, enjoy skeet shooting, and was born in Houston, Texas? This has been a crazy election year so far for We the People. One filled with bemusement, soul-searching, and ambivalence. Some of us won’t be able to cast our ballots with the same enthusiasm as in years past. Maybe because we’re confused about our own political yard sign. In most cases—at least in the primaries—we might be forced to just hold our noses and pull the lever.