Maybe you’re a natural athlete. Maybe you’re pretty. Those aren’t accomplishments, those are the commodities of 8th graders. But we carry them into our 20’s, thoughtlessly attaching ourselves to all the wrong people. Most of my friends got married in their 20’s. Somewhere around 26 everyone panicked, grabbed the nearest knucklehead, drinking themselves into oblivion, stumbling down the aisle and saying “I do.”
I didn’t, mercifully.
At this point in my life, I’ve spent more time alone than with someone else. The hardest part of being alone is getting to the other side of loneliness. But you know what’s there? Let me tell you…
Classes in glam rock at The Old Town School Of Folk Music, a loft in the west loop you’ll love until the neighborhood gets too douchey, a parade in Zion for an unlikely politician you’re backing in the 10th congressional district, a trip to Nashville where you’ll reconnect with fraternity brothers from college only to realize why you lost touch in the first place, a book you wrote no one will ever read but who cares since you wrote the book and that was the point, 11 glorious years on Saint Marks Place between 2nd and 3rd Avenue in the East Village of New York City where at one point you’ll live with 3 roommates and a dog and you’ll come away with the recognition that you liked the dog best, a string of improv classes which will lead you to very little stage time and a whole lot of heartbreak but you find yourself tempted to jump into another improv class as you type these very words.
13 angry Democrats are being blamed for Donald Trump’s woes. I don’t know exactly what the woes are about and I could google “Donald Trump’s Woes” but I don’t care. I’m glad he’s in over his head.
Donald Trump has lived his life in an extended adolescence. He’s cocky. There’s not a shred of confidence in the man. I don’t even want to call him a man. He’s not a man. He’s Freddy’s little boy playing dress-up president.
Today he will throw the ultimate tantrum by stomping his feet on the Iran Deal. He can’t help himself. If Barack did it then Donald is undoing it. He’s racist. He cannot help himself.
Racism starts as a bad idea and turns into a disease of entitlement.
If you are Donald Trump, you are a racist. If you voted for Donald Trump, you are a racist. If you entertained the idea of voting for Donald Trump, you are a racist. I fall into the last trap. I considered voting for Donald Trump which is how I know I’m a racist. But I own it and this is the key difference between me and the other children playing romper room with the Birther-In-Chief.
Own it. Or you’re lost.
At 2PM today, Donald Trump will announce we’re leaving the Iran Deal and the world will be the worse for it. I tell you this will full confidence.