The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Maybe you wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweats and a fevered brain, unable to sleep, impossible to think clearly. You feel an anxiety, you have labored breathing, you feel mood swings from rage to despair. You’ve talked to your doctor and he suggests you try an extra adult beverage in the evening before he prescribes lithium. He tells you you’re not alone, that half his patients lately seem to be suffering similar symptoms. Mass hysteria, he mumbles to himself, and you go home thinking you should seek a second opinion. Or a third. Or double down on those adult beverages.

You decide to quit watching the news, stop reading the papers, forego the radio. It doesn’t help, not a bit. Menopause? you wonder, or in half the cases, male menopause. Hot flashes, mood swings, depression. You discover half the neighborhood is suffering the same malady. Something in the water? Something in the air? A terrorist nerve toxin, maybe?

And then, out of the blue, right after the President sides with Putin over his own intelligence agencies and even some of his Fox Friends wonder what in the world?, Rand Paul, of all people, comes out and says this hysteria is nothing more than intense hatred that blinds you to … well, maybe not facts exactly, but Trump’s latest diplomatic move. He even gives it a name; after all, he is a doctor. Okay, an ophthalmologist. And you are having trouble seeing straight. He calls it Trump Derangement Syndrome.

Meaning, you hate the guy so much you can’t see what he’s doing is smart, strategic and possibly even visionary. You can’t see it because you’re blinded by hatred. If he calls the EU our foe, if he believes Putin when he tells him he didn’t tamper with the elections, if he tells you he’s saved you from nuclear war with N. Korea, if he lambasts our NATO allies and drops tariffs on them and the rest of the world, well, you only see red. You’re locked and loaded with piss and vingear. You have TDS, my friend. You’ve doubled down on the double negatives.

You want to hold him accountable for all the wild promises he made this last election, end the war in Ukraine in a week, find peace in the Middle East immediately, end inflation right away no problem, build the Wall, round up the illegal immigrants. Well, he’s rounding up the immigrants but all you can see are shades of the Japanese internments of World War Two. Why? Cause you hate the guy. And when he says he’ll clear out Gaza and make a beautiful resort playground there, you probably can’t imagine making reservations. No, because, well, you know the reason.
And from here on out, you will hear that diagnosis again and again. There’s no cure and I suspect no one is looking for one. So today, when the Trumpster reverses once more, imposing new tariffs, reducing others, suspending a few, jumping back to his original position, which, if you remember, was before he explained the double negative he actually meant to say, well, you probably gnashed your teeth and beat your fists and screamed into the storm. Because you hate the guy so much, you are blinded to the genius of his strategy. You probably even think, like me, that Trump Derangement Syndrome isn’t a description of us, it’s a perfect description of him. Quite a disease….

I been listening for the last year or more this growing drumbeat against public service employees, social security entitlements, health care run by the government and, well, damn near everything run by the government. You’d think teachers were communists and firemen were Marxists and anybody who wasn’t working for themselves or for a corporation were leeches on the body public. We suddenly got ourselves a debt crisis and some folks thing the only solution is to shrink government down to a size they can flush in a toilet.

I used to be a school teacher way back in the Paleolithic. And I don’t mean Sarah Paleolithic. I find it troubling that public employees are the bad guys now. That somehow they don’t contribute to the wealth of America. The Ayn Randians think the corporations are the only way to restore the nation to its former glory days, but I’m not sure what glory days they mean, although probably any time before last year would do.

We got a lot of folks out of work right now who can’t pay taxes if they don’t make a living. And we got a Congress with a lot of senators and representatives who want to cut government jobs some more. Because, I guess, they aren’t real jobs. Don’t pay real taxes. Don’t buy real groceries and cars and television sets. Don’t pay into social security. Don’t get loans or put their phony money in banks. I guess. These senators and representatives, it should be pointed out to them, don’t have real jobs either. And lately, most of us might at least agree on that point.

What I don’t understand, being a communist on the South End, is how we watched the banking industry and the Wall Street boys and the hedge fund managers and all the heroes of Ayn Rand take us down a subprime mortgage meltdown and nobody seems to think anyone is to blame but the government. Call me stoopid and paint a clown face on my hat, but something is terrible wrong with this picture. Something’s upside down and inside out and distorted like those old funhouse mirrors at the carnival. Why aren’t some people in jail for gaming the system? Why aren’t laws being passed to keep it from happening again?

I’m not a Bolshevik just because I want to lock up thieves who were supposed to be capitalist heroes, am I? I just want somebody to tell me how it is we think one job is more valid than another, why a private construction worker is more important to the economy than a government construction worker the FAA laid off the last few weeks, why we should want a private agency security person instead of a municipal cop, why we think a corporation beholden to its investors is more honest than an employee working for us, the people.

Course, I’ll have to admit, in full disclosure, most of us down here on the radical South End, aren’t too much interested in jobs. Any jobs. Work, I hate to admit, isn’t high on the value chart. And here’s something for the Sarah Paleontologists: you won’t find too many communists here either. Everybody’s supposed to work under communism. That isn’t gonna fly down here. We got a few better things to do than work. Maybe we should’ve run for the Senate.

76 trombones led the big parade. With a hundred and ten cornets close at hand.

Aw, who doesn’t love a good parade, marching bands, twirlers, floats and banners and our boys in uniform? Women too now! And Transgenders! Followed by tanks and artillery, jets flying overhead in formation, bunker buster bombs carried on carriages two blocks long. Formation after formation of the Army, the Navy, the Marines and the Air Force. Battalions and generals and military hardware. The Commander-in-Chief looking down from the stage specially constructed for his viewing pleasure, salutes to him as thousands pass by rank and file, hail to the Chief!!

Damn the expense! If we can’t put on a good military parade once a year, what kind of cowpie country are we? Let the rest of the world cower before our display of drones and cruise missiles moving mile after mile down the banner festooned streets of D.C. Patriotism on Display!! Military Might on Display!! Who doesn’t love a good parade?? Forget that Mickey Mouse balloon stuff. Homer Simpson three blocks high. We’re talking about Fire Power, not Star Power. Save the Disney stuff for the Mummer’s or the Rose Bowl or Mardi Gras. Bring on the Bradley Fighting Machines, the 1126 Stryker, the MK19 grenade machine gun, the Black Hawk helicopters, the MK-54 torpedoes, bring it all out and let the world tremble.

Shock and awe on the streets of the USA, that’s what we need. You wonder how we won the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and Syria, well, sir, check out that hardware we’re selling to every hungry dictatorship around the globe. What’s on display here is more than Uncle Sam’s mighty muscles, it’s a runway for arms sales, pure and simple and who better to brand that than the Trumpster himself, Captain America. You need a second generation jet, we got em. You need some Surface-to-Air missiles, we’re your supplier. Just don’t resell them to terrorists. Don’t want those SAMs falling into the wrong hands like that time with the Taliban back in the cold war days when they were fighting the Soviets.

No, give me a good parade any day. Celebrate the weapons of destruction. Hell, drop a nuclear bomb out in the countryside, nothing too big, just a little show of atomic power, a warning to the enemies of liberty. Small mushroom cloud over the capitol, better than the 4th of July. Guns and God, let freedom ring. 76 trombones and a huckster Music Man, is this a great country or what?

My President doesn’t really read anything other than ‘news’ articles about himself. Mostly he watches TV, news stations whose talking heads talk about him. In reverent tones. Far as anyone knows he doesn’t listen to music, doesn’t dance, doesn’t sing or play an instrument, doesn’t write much of anything beyond a florid signature, doesn’t paint or mess with art. What art he appreciates is anyone’s guess. My guess is the only art hanging in the penthouse of the Trump Tower would be a full size mirror. In a gold frame, of course.

Maybe I’m being ungenerous. Nobody has to read literature, no one is required to listen to music, you don’t have to appreciate art to be a full human being. I know a few South Enders like that and they’re plenty happy to go to work, come home and watch ESPN sports without becoming narcissistic cretins. They just don’t care much about the arts. C’est la vie.

But they didn’t fire the Director of the nation’s premier Art Center and any of the Board Members he felt were too Woke. The man with zero aesthetic appreciation just put himself in charge of the Kennedy Center making himself the Czar of Culture in America.

Apparently Trump isn’t content to wage war with his own government. Isn’t content to make enemies of the press. Doesn’t mind alienating neighboring countries or allies. Is willing to denigrate the leader of Ukraine, call him a dictator and accuse him publicly of starting the war with Russia. Seems to be open to alliances with true dictators who have traditionally been our enemies. And with malice toward all, now he needs to co-opt the Arts too??

My friends who voted for him think he’s the businessman this country needs, a billionaire who’ll bring back the Gilded Age, who’s transactional, meaning he sees the world as a zero-sum game, everything through the lens of profit and loss, money, goods, relationships. The Art of the Deal and only the deal. A gold toilet is the throne for this kind of thinking. But a full size mirror is not art, merely a narrow two dimensional reflection of a small one dimensional man, the last man on earth who should be the Czar of Culture.

When I was young and heading off to college, Humanities were still an honorable degree. History, Art, Philosophy, Music, Literature — you could get a diploma even if your chances of getting a job were slim to none. I guess I was more interested in getting an education than a career because I took a double major in the humanities at the Univ. of Wisconsin in Madison, a time when the Vietnam riots were in full swing, a different education altogether.

Jump 50 years into the future, a half century — the trend now is to downsize or eliminate the Humanities, the argument being that high tuition costs DEMAND degrees with maximum employment potential and a salary to pay off the huge student debt. Bizness degrees, I.T., engineering, high tech — that’s where universities and community colleges are funneling their students. Microsoft and Amazon, Google and Facebook, the billionaires of Silicon Valley, they’re all driving the pilot-less train into a brave new future of automation, artificial intelligence, drones and a wired world. The Digital Age is rapidly replacing the Industrial Era, leaving the Romantic Era beneath deep sediment. Who needs poetry when you can program the next generation of androids to write a ditty?

We call the Humanities humanities because we’re exploring just that, the qualities that make us human and not machine, an altogether necessary endeavor in this next evolution of mankind. It is more than alarming to watch the diminution of the Humanities at the same time humans are inexorably merging into their own technology. As an artist, I’ve never been one to argue that we’re the saviors of the culture, the Sensitive Ones, the Visionaries. I may have been wrong. More worrisome now — we may be canaries in the mine.