It's impossible to escape Donald Trump.
He's kind of like the cosmic cloud mother who floats above New York City to the bedevilment of Woody Allen in the movie "Oedipus Wrecks."
He's kind of like the cosmic cloud mother who floats above New York City to the bedevilment of Woody Allen in the movie "Oedipus Wrecks."
Except that Donald Trump is more like the personification of a nuclear winter cloud, the aftermath of a disaster - his election - that now hangs noxiously- or rather, whirls noxiously, up, down, and all over the place like a flatus in a blender - over the whole wide world.
I'd call one of the many movies that will someday be made about him:
I'd call one of the many movies that will someday be made about him:
| "Trumpius Wrecks" |  |
Since the ascendancy of Trumpius Wrecks we've had no real freedom from his foul presence. You can become occupied with some other diversion for a while - your work, your kids, your friends, a night at the movies - but he's always there, disturbing the air above and around you. He's the thorn in your rose. The fly in your soup. The worm in your apple.
One night last week while I was teaching a piano lesson in a student's home I received a phone call. I glanced at my phone screen and saw that it was a friend calling.
After the lesson I was talking to my student's mother, a busy young professional woman, about her child's practice assignment for the week.
After I'd finished talking about the piano lesson the young mother exclaimed, "I still can't believe that man is President!"
She was feeling down and distraught, worried for her children, herself, her country, the world. "What can I do?" she sighed.
I told her not to worry. I told her to do her work and take care of those children of hers and leave the resistance to us older folks and younger folks without small children who have the time and the resources. I told her we got it done in the '60's and we'd get it done again this time.
Later that night when I returned home from teaching I called my friend back. She, too, was suffering a case of the Trumpius Wrecks blues and was sorely in need of cheering up. While I was giving my friend a pep-talk my daughter called. When I called my daughter back she was feeling Trump-down, and while I was consoling my daughter my sister called. My sister was actually okay but she was concerned about a friend whose spirits were in the Trumpits.
And so it goes. Even my piano tuner, the other day as he was leaving my house, turned to me and said, "I've been depressed lately."
Trump, I thought to myself.
"It's because of Trump," he sighed woefully.
But to all those suffering under the manic miasma of the endless misdeeds of Trumpius Wrecks, I say take heart and fear not. Return to my post from 1/26/2017, in which I left instructions for contacting your Representatives in Washington. Stay on top of the news, painful as it may be since it's never about anything but Donald Trump anymore, but stay informed anyway and if you've already contacted your Representative about last week's Trumpius Wrecks debacle, contact them again about last week's and this week's and the week's before. Pile up your phone calls, emails and complaints to your Representatives. Write to your newspaper. Bee-atch to your friends. Make your voice heard however you can.
And if you can't make it to a public demonstration - which are proliferating around the country by the day - then leave the demonstrations to those of us who can and will make them.
That's how we got it done in the 60's.
One night last week while I was teaching a piano lesson in a student's home I received a phone call. I glanced at my phone screen and saw that it was a friend calling.
After the lesson I was talking to my student's mother, a busy young professional woman, about her child's practice assignment for the week.
After I'd finished talking about the piano lesson the young mother exclaimed, "I still can't believe that man is President!"
She was feeling down and distraught, worried for her children, herself, her country, the world. "What can I do?" she sighed.
I told her not to worry. I told her to do her work and take care of those children of hers and leave the resistance to us older folks and younger folks without small children who have the time and the resources. I told her we got it done in the '60's and we'd get it done again this time.
Later that night when I returned home from teaching I called my friend back. She, too, was suffering a case of the Trumpius Wrecks blues and was sorely in need of cheering up. While I was giving my friend a pep-talk my daughter called. When I called my daughter back she was feeling Trump-down, and while I was consoling my daughter my sister called. My sister was actually okay but she was concerned about a friend whose spirits were in the Trumpits.
And so it goes. Even my piano tuner, the other day as he was leaving my house, turned to me and said, "I've been depressed lately."
Trump, I thought to myself.
"It's because of Trump," he sighed woefully.
But to all those suffering under the manic miasma of the endless misdeeds of Trumpius Wrecks, I say take heart and fear not. Return to my post from 1/26/2017, in which I left instructions for contacting your Representatives in Washington. Stay on top of the news, painful as it may be since it's never about anything but Donald Trump anymore, but stay informed anyway and if you've already contacted your Representative about last week's Trumpius Wrecks debacle, contact them again about last week's and this week's and the week's before. Pile up your phone calls, emails and complaints to your Representatives. Write to your newspaper. Bee-atch to your friends. Make your voice heard however you can.
And if you can't make it to a public demonstration - which are proliferating around the country by the day - then leave the demonstrations to those of us who can and will make them.
That's how we got it done in the 60's.
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