About Them Cowboys

I’m not ready to talk about Donald Trump yet.

I mean, I’m paying attention. I’m reading, I’m watching, I’m taking notes. Last night, during a pretty riveting Bengals/Giants game I kept flipping over to the news stations. It was fascinating stuff. I’m hooked. The storyline is unbelievable. Sean Hannity is still unwatchable, but some things never change.

I’m sure I’ll be talking about Donald Trump a lot in the months to come. There’s almost always something to see and something to say. It’s a circus and he’s the ringmaster. Even more than before, he’s the ringmaster. He’s the President of the United States of America now. There’s that.

But I don’t have a lot to say about it yet. The presidency is still in pre-infancy; the head is still forming. I could talk about Steve Bannon today, I suppose, and how if he is not a white supremacist then he at least has great appeal to that ilk. He does. The alt-right love him. He basks in that. Even if he himself is not a bigot he certainly panders to bigotry and has built a base around it. I’m sure Donald Trump wants to keep that far right bloc with him, so Steve Bannon is a smart political choice. I don’t want to talk about it.

If I did want to talk about it I might talk about how the cabinet appears to be coming together. There’s a lot of talk about the old guard Republicans making up Trump’s inner circle. America’s Mayor is back. The Newt will have a place. Even the acrimonious warhawk John Bolton is being tabbed. It’s hard to drain a swamp while you’re still filling it with gators, Don.

But it’s too soon to say. The American people have spoken, and they have chosen Donald Trump to be their leader after a tight, bitter election. He’s the guy now. Unless the electoral college pulls a 180 on December 19th then he’s the prez. They won’t. That never happens. But if it did we’d see the biggest flip flop in protesters in American history. Dems would go home. Pubs would hit the streets. The shift change would be kind of fun to watch.

But it won’t happen. It never does.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those “bitter about the electoral college” kind of guys; it did what is was designed to do. Maybe it’s outdated, maybe it’s an important safeguard. Either way, it worked the way it was supposed to and that’s just fine with me.

Maybe I’d be more bitter if there were a decent candidate to fall back on. Maybe I’d be out on the streets with the protesters if Hillary Clinton were a legitimate alternative. Maybe I should have hit the streets after the DNC, when the real travesty of this election ensued. I didn’t. I didn’t even write a blog about it. Shame on Tom.

Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe Bernie Sanders would have lost to Donald Trump, anyway. Maybe Donald Trump was inevitable. America has been spiraling out of control for a while now, and the culture war is fierce. Maybe the pendulum was going to swing far right this time no matter what. Mr Naccarato in 9th grade History was resolute about that; the pendulum always swings hard the other way in time. Maybe it was just time.

Time.

Mark Twain famously said that any man who is a pessimist before the age of 48 knows too much, and any man who is an optimist after the age of 48 knows too little. I am 48 years old, and a half. I have been an optimist my entire life and I’m very proud of my ability to see the silver lining in every gray cloud. So I’m trying, here, not to jump to conclusions, to see the positive in this election, to give the president-elect time. Not a free pass, by any means, but time. Time to prove me right. Time to prove me wrong. Time. In six months I’ll be past the age of 48 and I’d like to think I’ll retain my youthful optimism. If I do not then it would not surprise me if it were taken away by a misogynistic, xenophobic, egomaniacal charlatan who conned his way into becoming the most powerful man in the world, after I thought he was only a joke.

Oh well.

It happened.

We’re here.

I’m not ready to talk about Donald Trump yet, anyway.

How about them Cowboys?

Author: Tom Being Tom

Tom writes a blog. When he’s not doing that he’s usually hanging out with Mrs C, his wife of 20 years. Together, they have two beautiful, golden boys. Literally. The retriever kind. Tom recently started a novel and is a member of one of the largest social groups known to man.

His worldview was formed by the strange intermingling of comic book superheroes, socioeconomic politics, the Air Coryell offense, and an atheistic spiritual awakening.

He intends to save the world next Thursday.

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