Wait, what?

October 20, 2024

Another in a series of observations of life as I know it.

Arnold Palmer was all man, and I say that in all due respect to women — and I love women. But this guy, this guy, this is a guy that was all man. This man was strong and tough. And I refuse to say it, but when he took showers with the other pros, they came out of there, they said, 'Oh my God, that's unbelievable.'

-Weird Uncle Donnie

Calling Trump's remarks at the NY Economics Club incoherent gibberish is not a biased attack. It is a completely rational observation. He did not speak in coherent or complete sentences. And when he did, proposals like (tarriffs - childcare) do not make sense.

-MSNBC Stephanie Ruhle

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This falls into the “you can’t make this stuff up”, even if I wanted to. I went to get my coffee this morning at my usual haunt. As I drove down Main Street, I came upon a person dressed as the Orange Trumpkin, whirling a hula hoop around an expansive girth. I almost slammed on my brakes just to get a better view. Reason prevailed and I moved on. This is what life has become. 

I bet we’ve all had at least one oddball relative. The one who puts the cringe Christmas. Ours was my Uncle Al, a sweet old gentleman for whom good taste was long past its sell-by date. Loud, garish ties, mismatched plaids and stripes, and a shiny bald pate. His voice carried into the sound barrier. Al lived with his mother, my great grandmother, until she died at age 105. Then he remained in their little apartment until his own demise. He was joyful, optimistic and caring. That he was a bit “off” was part of his charm.

And then there’s weird Uncle Donnie, our very own national nightmare. Man pancake makeup in a color unknown to Mother Nature, applied with a trowel. But only to the forward facing parts of his sagging visage. Great swaths of pallid skin remain exposed, along with barren patches of scalp not covered by the elaborate comb over. His cognition is failing, made more pronounced by a steady stream of gibberish and nonsense. He speaks in an unceasing stream of consciousness, but not one known to the average person. At age 78, time has caught up with him, as displayed in his tendency to nod off during debates. Or to lose his train of thought mid sentence which triggers a non sequitur leap to a ready playlist of songs to which he likes to dance and sway. Increasingly smaller crowds are gathering to see this spectacle of a diminished performer. One who was never that talented to begin with. 

Here we are, 16 days from an election for President of the United States. Pitting a used up clown against a capable public servant. Half of the nation is in thrall to a man with rapidly encroaching dementia. A convicted felon awaiting sentence. What’s wrong with this picture? How has our collective cognition failed so profoundly? You don’t put your crazy uncle anywhere near the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. So why, pray tell, would we put this dangerous sociopath on the ballot? Am I missing something?