Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Ol’ Robbo had no intention of watching the election returns last evening. I have learned through long and bitter experience that such things are both repugnant and stressful to me, repugnant because of the yammering of the Talking Heads, stressful because of the suspense and potential for disaster. So I had planned to watch a movie instead. (“The Hunt For Red October”, in case you were wondering.)
Unfortunately, Mrs. R got at the teevee before I did, and before I knew it, had flipped on the election coverage. Perversely, because I hate it so much, I find that once I’ve clapped eyeballs on said coverage, I cannot tear myself away until the issues presented are resolved. As they say, Keep Calm and Don’t Blink.
So there I was, hopelessly trapped. And I stayed that way from about 8:30 pm all the way through to The Donald’s victory speech at around 3:30 ack emma. And I admit that there was some drink taken.
Up again at six this morning, you can imagine how productive a day I actually had.
Not that I was alone: most of the rest of the people in my office also appear to have held out to the bitter end, and while I was just bleary and jaded, they were in full Gotterdammerung meltdown, crying, cursing, and group-hugging.
(Okay, I have to admit that their tears tasted….delicious.)
Eldest Gel reported that very similar things were going on at her school, and that the administration had designated certain “safe spaces” for any student needing some place in which to work out her feelings. As the Gel so eloquently put it, “What the hell is wrong with these people?”
Anyhoo, I’m still trying to wrap my head around what actually happened. I won’t pretend that the Donald is the second coming of the Gipper, but I will note the old tag attributed to Sam Clemens to the effect that history may not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. And here you have it: Populist revolt against moribund, rudderless, top-heavy, smothering, progressivist regime.
The Gel used to gripe that ol’ Robbo got to grow up during the Reagan years. I’m not so sure that she isn’t about to experience a different version of the same ride. I hope so. I hope so.
For myself, after much consideration I arrived at the conclusion that the most important thing in this election was keeping She Who Must Not Be Named’s claws off the Supreme Court, and so I voted accordingly. You may imagine, then, how I feel about the results.
(Yes, as of yesterday I am not quite so worried about being sent off to the camps or having a bullet put in the back of my head.)