I woke up with White Christmas in my head. I suspect you’ve heard of it. #sarcasm. It’s a Christmas song written by a Jewish guy and popularized by an Irish Catholic guy. The overwhelming popularity of the song always struck me as a bit odd since I’ve never lived in a place where a White Christmas is a likelihood. Hell, neither did Der Bingle: he lived not far from where I grew up.
This year, I’m dreaming of a slow news day just like the ones we used to know. Remember when presidents took a vacation during the holidays? That’s my dream: Reagan on his ranch, Poppy Bush in Maine, Obama in Hawaii. Unlike the Current Occupant, they knew the perils of overexposure.
American used to focus on the holidays on the Monday before Christmas. In 2020, the Impeached Insult Comedian is still working overtime to own the libs. Why not? It’s so easy. The whole Michael Flynn-Martial Law leak is classic Trump: blow smoke and sow seeds of confusion about something that is impossible. Repeat after me: IMPOSSIBLE.
I certainly believe that Flynn is capable of such an utterance, but he was pandering to the guy who pardoned him. Martial law isn’t a thing that can just be declared without planning and preparation. When did the Kaiser of Chaos ever plan anything? Martial law isn’t even an American thing: there’s no specific provision for it in either the constitution or federal law.
A reminder that the Joint Chiefs of Staff declared themselves out of politics before the election. You can’t have marital law or a coup without the military. The brass hate Trump. They’d rather have an asterisk-free president who doesn’t call veterans “losers and suckers.” I understand that there’s one available.
I have other dreams this chilly, not snowy New Orleans morning.
I dream that people will stop misusing words like coup, sedition, and treason. Things are bad enough without overdramatizing everything.
I dream that my social media feeds will not be clogged with people who hate authoritarianism so much that they want to throw everyone in jail. Proof positive that irony isn’t dead.
I dream that people will stop lamenting the hardship of a socially distant holiday season and focus on 2021 when the holiday season will be back to semi-normal. Life is hard enough without relentless kvetching. Repeat after me: Better stir crazy than dead.
I dream that we can go a week without thinking of the sitting president because he’s a normal guy, not a sociopath. I understand that there’s one available.
Living in interesting times is overrated. I’m dreaming of a slow news day just like the ones we used to know.
The last word goes to the Irish Catholic guy who popularized White Christmas: