In a matter of hours – a measure which under any other circumstance would be inconsequential – the public news media has evaporated and in the process regained its erstwhile rôle as a colourless reporter of announcements, stories and tragedies. The inconvenience is, with President Donald J. Trump sequestered in the White House and uncommonly reserved, there’s seemingly nothing of urgency to report or read. Unwittingly I’m afraid we’ve become constrained by our morning, afternoon and evening toxin, “Now what!”
Trump’s daily sideshows succeed to the inferior denomination of another so-called “reality TV show” an incongruity I’ve frankly never fully understood. The last thing I’d attribute to a reality TV show is reality. Undeniably though Trump is engagiing – at least upon a curiously visceral level.
Trump more than anyone understands the imperative of social contact and interchange. It is practically his “life blood“, so dependent is he upon constant acknowledgement and approbation. As unsettling as that particular psychic detail may be – and parenthetically I caution that each of us has his own – the overriding cone is that to varying degrees we thrive upon social exchange.
This morning – a decidedly fresh day above the 49th Parallel – we’ve profited by this necessity by telephoning friends in Wisconsin to gather their latest intelligence. Not insignificantly Her Ladyship was recently returned from a walk during which she and her daughter shared what I can only image was a meaningful chinwag on their mobile ‘phones. Then afterwards upon our return home we encountered friends with whom we’ve arranged to foregather next week to get caught up on the tittle-tattle.
The further notation – and one which is an embarrassment – is that void of Trump’s manifestly critical remarks there is little in the humdrum news that so compels our ephemeral interest. If nothing else this modification from political pundit to trash collector does nothing to strengthen our collective status as vulgar. We are thus analytically captured as unnamed creatures of servitude. The drug and oil companies have nothing on Trump’s charm!
Rather than confess I’ve been manipulated and unsuspectingly drawn into the fray that is politics, I seek to preserve my identity by performing my daily less than theatrical ceremonies – the repetition of which (and the equivalent inconsequence of which) I shall thankfully spare you, Dear Reader!