Those of you who’ve been through therapy, or who have a friend who’s been through therapy and held your hand and refilled your glass for hours that night when you poured out your soul about that asshole, that prick, that king-hell bitch of a boss/ex-wife/ex-husband/no-goodnik who did you wrong — if you’ve been in that situation, ever, you’ve probably heard this line:
“Why are you letting them live in your head rent-free?”
Clever, to the point, sometimes it resets your thinking, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the eviction of the squatter in your head has to be done at a later date, but eventually, it has to be done.
This is how I feel about Donald Trump; this is what I was talking about when I said I didn’t know how much more of this campaign I could take. I’m just so, so tired of the endless tweets and posts and blogs and what-have-you about him, and I want to talk about something else. I want him out of my head, because he has clogged the toilet and smeared the bathtub with grime and left his hair products all over the sink and otherwise made himself unwelcome up there.
That said, he’s coming to town Monday to speak to the Detroit Economic Club, and I’m going to try to get a credential. The DEC is very much GOPe people, in the main, with some Democrats sprinkled in there. There will surely be supporters in the crowd, but this will be no Trump rally by any measure. They always ask a few questions, pre-vetted by the chair, and I don’t expect anything incendiary, but it’s worth giving up a lunch hour for sure.
We’ll see how it goes.
That said, the latest from the squatter between my ears:
I didn’t think it was possible to be more offended by this guy, but after watching the clip of him showing off a Purple Heart — a Purple Heart! — given to him by a veteran, making a joke about how he “always wanted one,” but didn’t think “it would be this easy,” something inside me just curdled. Alan’s father earned three of them, and his war wounds probably shortened his life by a decade, and did who-knows-what to the inside of his head. Where is the bottom of this barrel? What hell lies below this one? Who, who in the world with Trump’s resume, particularly where his lack of military service is concerned, would accept such an offer? What sentient human being wouldn’t tuck it back into that veteran’s hand and say, “This is something special, and while I’m honored by your gesture, it would be wrong for me to take it.” Donald Trump, that’s who.
Oh, enough of him. How about another one cut from the same bolt of cloth, James O’Keefe? He was in town on Election Day, and guess what he did? Tried to vote for a number of high-profile people, including members of the Free Press editorial board, one of whom wrote a column about his actions.
O’Keefe. What a douchebag. I commented on Facebook that if Ted Cruz is the most punchable face in America, this guy has to be the silver medalist.
You guys all saw the tweetstorm by John Noonan, who was Jeb Bush’s national security advisor, right? It ain’t pretty.
Mentioning the silver medalist makes me think of the Olympics, starting this weekend. I plan to watch that swimming until all I can see is blue.
And that’s it for me today. Here’s to a calmer tomorrow.