ttle Things
Sometimes, it’s the little things. Sometimes, there are situations that are so monstrously calamitous that their repugnance can’t be synthesized into one coherent thought. There are no adjectives that fit. The only natural, but totally inadequate reaction, is to shrug and shake your head. And that is far from satisfying. Such is the case with the way Orange Julius is handling the pandemic.
From his early denials, to his medically obnoxious suggestions of disinfectant, to his unmasked face, to his . . . . well, you can fill in the rest. And now, after keeping his distance and doing nothing to provide urgency to legislation that can reduce the nation’s suffering, when that bill is finally crafted, he weighs in at the very last minute and puts the kibosh on it. On top of that, after doing this despicable act, he trots off to his resort to celebrate the holiday and plays golf while people lose jobs; people get sick; people starve; and people die. What’s the adjective for all that? I can’t find one.
So, in the midst of such enormous wrongs, it is easier to vent on the smaller ones. That’s manageable. It misses the larger point, but, at the same time, it is both the most and the least we can do.
In that spirit, there is a very, very small part of this whole Covid mess that especially pissed me off. It has to do with a planned plane ride.
It was reported that the Government Printing Office finally was able to turn out the 5600 pages of the law that would help stop the suffering. However, because our Dear Leader had already jumped into Air Force One and gone to Florida, the whole load of essential word salad was to be put on a plane and flown to Mar-A-Lago so Donald Dork could sign it after he putts out. What a ridiculous plan! How preposterous is it to make those arrangements so that a fucking baby-child could read 5,600 pages – that’s 5,559 pages more than he’s ever read.
As I write this, that plane trip hasn’t happened, but only because of Trump’s most recent insanity – his refusal to sign. If it happens after I send this, well, it doesn’t justify anything, including the plane ride.
And beyond that, why in the world in this technological age must this law be printed in the first place? Electronic documents are accepted in just about every legal forum. Even if printing was necessary why right away? Why waste another minute while people suffer? Why can’t it be signed electronically now and then later put to paper? And, most of all, why does this antiquated form of documentation need to be put on a plane and sent over 1,000 miles for another signature – a trip, by the way, that we, including the suffering, have to pay for?
In the scheme of things, my complaint here is certainly a little thing. A very little thing. It’s like dying of rancid meat you were served in a restaurant and complaining, instead, that the place-setting had the fork in the wrong place. And yet, verbalizing my anger over the thousand-mile, multi-thousand-dollar chartered flight for unnecessary pieces of paper has helped me feel a little bit better. It doesn’t alleviate my fury over this last-minute absurdity of the Trump Terror, but, in these absurd Trumpian times, like every vote, every little thing counts.
We were right 
Like you, I’m at a loss for words to describe what trump has been doing in these waning days of his disasterous presidency. New words need to be invented for it.
I think we need to focus on the little things as you say because to try to take in the enormity of it all would be just too overwhelming. Like how your body goes into shock when it is so traumatized that you would not be able to endure the pain.
In the future, I propose that the word “trump” should be considered a curse word. Like: “Trump you, you asshole!” or “Really? Are you trumping with me?” or, “Get the trump outta here!” or “You mother-trumper!”
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