I’ve had Gore Vidal’s classic novel 1876 on my mind of late. My Vidalian reverie is inspired by the HBO series, The Gilded Age. It covers some of the same territory as 1876 and features a few of the same real people including the slippery Ward McAlister who Vidal mocked as a Silly Billy. That fits Nathan Lane’s Gilded Age performance to a T.

Vidal’s stand-in as the first person narrator is writer, lawyer, diplomat, and all-around bon vivant Charles Schuyler who served the same purpose in Burr. Schuyler learned at the end of Burr that he was Aaron Burr’s illegitimate son. Reeling from that revelation, Schuyler spent decades abroad, returning  home in time for the American centennial celebration and the 1876 election.

Charles Schuyler knew Washington Irving in his youth and borrows one of Irving’s most famous characters, Rip Van Winkle, as his persona for his newspaper pieces about his return home after a 40 year absence. Rip drank some fakakta potion, slept for 20 years, then awakened to comment on the American scene. Rip fell back asleep after the disputed 1876 election was decided. He’s been asleep ever since. Holy potent potion, Batman.

I feel a musical reference coming on:

It’s time to share my inner Rip Van Winkle. He awakened on Twelfth Night and learned it was the third anniversary of the Dipshit Insurrection. I channeled him, now he’s channeling my writing style, which has nothing to do with the English Channel, the mere thought of which makes me queasy.

Time to stop riffing and get back to Rip Van Winkle and his take on the Dipshit Insurrection. Let it rip, Rip:

America was a simpler place in my time. I don’t understand the internet, reality TV or the election of an Insult Comedian with a nutria pelt atop his head. I don’t even know what an Insult Comedian is let alone an Indicted Impeached Insult Comedian. But I know this much: He wants to be king. The last king we had flipped his wig, so we got rid of him. We’ve gone from the Madness of King George to the Madness of the Kaiser of Chaos. That’s not progress in my book.

Adrastos taught me how to turn on the computer. There’s magic in that electric box but also evil. I saw the clips of the rioters attack the police, storm the Capital, and piss on the floor. In a word: disgusting.

How could such a thing happen in America?

Now the man who would be king lies about what happened, and some believe him. Do you believe him or your lying eyes?

I’m confused by the modern world. I just learned that another Washington Irving character, Ichabod Crane, had his own TV show, Sleepy Hollow. Why not my story? It involves sleep induced by sort of hollow men who say yes to this Donald chap when they should say no. Some of them know better. Enough already.

I’m still confused by the unreality of today’s world. And they call me fictional. I, at least, make sense.

I pledge to check in again to share my confusion. Allow me to sign off with a song, I understand that Adrastos does it all the time.

Adrastos here:

I had no idea there was a song about Rip Van Winkle. That’s a new wrinkle to your story, Rip. I’m grateful that you wrote this in my voice: I don’t have a 19th century prose style and Washington Irving isn’t around to coach me. I hear that he has a date with a headless horseman or some such shit.

Thanks for sharing your confusion, Rip. I agree the situation is surreal, not that you’d know that word since it wasn’t coined until after the Great War. It’s a confusing and complicated time even for those of us who haven’t been asleep for 147 years. That’s a helluva potent potion you partook of Rip. A truly potent potable.

The last word goes to The Rolling Stones: