I spent the weekend in a post-conventions stupor, nursing a political hangover caused by the endless hours I’ve spent glued to the screen listening to speeches and the constant Trump-this/Clinton-that commentary on social media. It left me exhausted. That or this flu-bug I have had for more than a week finally just toppled me.
As far as conventions-as-entertainment go, both of these were Academy Award-worthy in my book. Memorable lines were spoken at both, plenty of points for emotional connections to be made. I’d have adjusted some of the musical choices made, but I’m sure they were all selected by people with bigger brains than mine, if not the Rolling Stones’ permission. To dwell on that point for just a moment: What exactly was the message anyway that Trump was trying to convey with “You Can’t Always Get What You Want?” Was that directed at our NATO allies or a veiled threat to the American voting public that he’s coming our way, like it or not? If that’s the case, Khizr Kahn, a Muslim whose son gave his life for America, was spot on when he offered to school The Donald with his pocket-size copy of the Constitution.
Heck, after watching day-after-day of pretty much gavel-to-gavel coverage (I did mute the sound whenever a CNN pundit began to blather), I needed some downtime. My intense convention-immersion even caused me to have flashbacks to the one-and-only national political convention I covered as a reporter. It was the 1980 Democratic Convention in New York City where President Jimmy Carter accepted his party’s nomination for a second term. I remember walking into Madison Square Garden and being jarred by all the colors. Up to that point, I had been watching the convention at home on a small black and white TV. My mind never allowed for the possibility of what it would look in color, much the same as my mind now doesn’t allow me to think of what a Trump presidency would look like. Count me among those who just can’t see it. Would there really be a wall, paid for by Mexico? Would there seriously be a ban on Muslims? Would my queer friends, my powerful women friends, my friends of color really be treated like pariahs because their mere existence threatens the president who would prefer to return to a time that we weren’t all around him? And of course the granddaddy problem of them all: Would we really elect a man who indeed loses his shit over a tweet and then put nuclear weapons within his reach?
It’s almost too much to fathom, so I just took a break from the surreality of today’s election and spent this weekend in a politics-free cocoon. My head is throbbing. My chest still hurts when I breath. I can’t sleep and my temperature goes up as night falls. But maybe it’s just the flu.
Related
Before You Go
