*Editor’s Note: This entry is rendered as was written in real time on January 20, 2021.
I’ve never been big on pomp and circumstance, but the occasion at hand may warrant a level of theater, muted as it might be due to Covid. As always, however, whenever I’m witness to such expensive political drama, all I usually think about is how the money required to throw these ceremonies and festivities ought to be used to supplement programs for the less fortunate.
In any case, today, America bears witness to a less than ceremonious end.
And a hopeful beginning.
That Guy is president no more.
Goddamn, it feels good to write that.
His departure was far less the spectacle he wanted it to be, surely, a pretense of order, overshadowed with a somber mood of defeat hanging over the ousted, amateur despot leaving office in disgrace. He left early because he wanted to use Air Force One to head down to Mar-a-Lago in Florida and didn’t want to ask President Biden for the use of a less famous government jet to shuttle him there. He took Marine One from the White House lawn over to Joint Base Andrews, where about 200 people and a cordon of troops assembled on the tarmac to bid him adieu, including the last of his loyalists, Chief of Staff Mark Meadows, Stephen Miller, and his sycophant children.
Vice President Pence elected to attend Biden’s inauguration ceremony instead. That Guy is the first president in 150 years who elected to skip the inauguration of his successor. Talk about a sore loser. Pence choosing to honor the incoming administration and passing on the boss man’s departure shows a culmination of the fracture between That Guy and his former veep. Inciting a mob which stormed the Capitol and threatened to hang the Vice President if they found him, well, sure, that ought to have killed the rabbit, one would think.
Amidst the cacophony of a military 21-gun salute, pretty much the only jazzy display the Pentagon allowed the ex-prez, he walked a red carpet and gave a half-hearted, final farewell speech. Honestly, there’s too much to celebrate today to spend much time dissecting That Guy’s last presidential address. He hit his standard bullet points, taking unwarranted credit for this, that, and the other. Then to the tune of Frank Sinatra’s My Way, he boarded Air Force One, and off he went into civilian life. Well. That was a presidential term, all right. That’s one way of putting it. Another would be a national dumpster fire. Yet another might be an overflowing outhouse packed with misery, treason, and death. Do I sound bitter? I’m not. Not today. Today, there is cause for hope.
Being the worry wart I am about such things far outside my pay grade, one of my biggest concerns is the handing off of the nuclear football from That Guy to Biden, and how that will go down, given That Guy won’t be at the inauguration. It’s usually carried by a military aide that accompanies the president at all times. Normally, with presidents conducting themselves appropriately in transitions of power, it would’ve been handed off to another military aide that’d be serving the incoming president. Typically, there are three footballs in rotation, sometimes four, where one follows the president, one follows the vice president, and there’s always an extra for the designated survivor at special events, like today’s inauguration, or other occasions where much of the government is assembled together. Never let it be said we’re not on top of our nuclear readiness.
There will be two briefcases in different locations to accommodate present circumstances, and two biscuits as well – the ‘biscuit’ is the plastic card presidents must always carry containing numeric codes to positively identify them as the sole legal authority to launch nuclear strikes. At noon EST today, That Guy’s aide will leave his employ and return to Washington with the briefcase. At that very same moment, all his codes and access will be deactivated, and Biden’s access will be activated simultaneously.
Only minutes to go.
Tick. Tock.
While I watch the dignitaries filing into the staging area of the Capitol, I’ll mention one interesting tidbit at the end of That Guy’s speech.
He said: “So, have a good life. We will see you soon.”
Have a good life?
What is this? A John Hughes movie?
It reminds me of the time on my favorite sitcom Cheers, when Ted Danson’s Sam Malone said those exact same words to Shelley Long’s Diane Chambers as she departed for futures unknown. She too, thought her absence would be temporary, much as That Guy apparently does, but Sam knew it was for good, despite her coming back in the series finale for a brief burst of reunion intrigue.
Have a good life.
It seems so final, so fatalistic, doesn’t it?
I’ve said it myself, several times over the years, to others departing the course of my life, and yes, I meant it, in terms of figuring I wouldn’t be seeing them again. Is it possible That Guy and I actually have something in common after all? Perhaps he and I both have watched too much television over the years. Is there a part of him that knows this could be his last spotlight? Inquisitive minds, journalists and media figures, ambulance chasers, and disgruntled followers will follow the remaining saga of That Guy, with his second impeachment inquiry, as well as a great number of criminal charges likely headed his way. *Editor’s Note: And then some.
The inaugural ceremony is sparsely attended, per Covid restrictions. In lieu of the usual crowd of hundreds of thousands, an art display they’re calling ‘Field of Flags’ has replaced live bodies. Nearly 200,000 small American flags have been erected at the entrance to the mall to represent the missing Americans who had to stay away from the usual proceedings because of Covid and the violence last week. The dais outside the Capitol is mostly military officials, ex-presidents, family members, and assorted Congressional members, all assembled on the same steps That Guy’s insurrectionists swarmed over two weeks ago to the day. All people present are wearing masks. It is nice to finally see concern for others at our Capitol building, I must say.
Lady Gaga just sang a moving version of the National Anthem.
Vice President Kamala Harris is taking the oath of office. U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor is swearing her in. Harris is using two bibles, one that belonged to late civil rights icon and Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, one owned by family friend Regina Shelton. She’s dressed to kill in a purple overcoat, exemplifying the unity they’re shooting for between the red and the blue. It’s a profound moment in American history. What a long overdue day, for women and peoples of color the world over.
Now it’s Joe’s turn.
He’s using a family bible as U.S. Supreme Court Justice John Roberts swears him in.
12 P.M., EST.
Joe Biden has become our country’s 46th president.
Even more of a relief, That Guy no longer has access to the nuclear codes.
Write me off as paranoid, have at it, but I’ll say it here and now, it’s a goddamned miracle that dumbfuck didn’t use any nukes during his term.
President Biden’s inaugural speech, perhaps the most important one he’s ever going to give, is commencing. He’s regal. Resolute. Hopeful. He’s not stuttering one iota. He’s invoking everything he needed to, the need for unity, the imperative to face racial reckoning and renounce white supremacy and nativism, the collective effort required to overcome this ‘dark winter’ of a global pandemic. He’s talking about the insurrection last week and how democracy beat it back. He’s saying he’s a president for all, and he’ll fight as hard for those who didn’t support him as those he did. He’s perfectly presidential.
And why wouldn’t he be? Like Hillary back in 2016, Joe’s another overqualified Democratic candidate, with 47 years of public service under his belt, eight of which were serving as the Vice President of the United States. No brainer. Perhaps unlike some fellow Americans, I didn’t vote for Biden just to log an anti-That Guy vote. Of the numerous lefty candidates back in the primaries, the only one that rivaled my attention to Biden was Harris herself. I’m still of the firm opinion not only is it long overdue for a woman to preside over the country, we’d be in better hands.
Women are smarter than men.
I know which side of the bread the brain butter is spread upon.
Harris had enough state level experience to jump start a presidency, no question. Biden had the seasoned pro angle cornered. I’d have happily supported either candidate. As it happens, I can split the difference now. Good enough.
Now there’s an inaugural reading from National Youth Poet Laureate poet Amanda Gorman. A 22-year-old scribe from Los Angeles who, like Biden, had a speech impediment as a child, she follows in the footsteps of former inaugural poets Maya Angelou and Robert Frost. She’s presenting a work she’s titling The Hill We Climb, and holy smokes, is it deserving of its moment in time. She is elegant, eloquent, a wordsmith of considerable note.
J-Lo just belted out an iconic medley of America the Beautiful and This Land is Your Land, capped off with an interlude to her famous track Let’s Get Loud. She slayed it. At one point she cried out “Una nacíon bajo Dios con libertad y justicia para todos!” That’s the end of the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish.
If you’re surprised women of color are taking the day, you haven’t been paying attention.
Garth Brooks, breaking with a good majority of his conservative fan base, caps off the ceremony with a stirring version of Amazing Grace. Remember, whiteboys, half of us were never fans of That Guy, including a good number of our country music stars. I’ll reiterate: hick don’t mean stupid, y’all. Most of us hicks ain’t.
President Biden – how much do I love typing that – and Vice President Harris – even better – are observing tradition and making the expected honorarium at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. After the inauguration ceremony, he and his new veep crossed the Potomac River to Arlington National Cemetery to lay a wreath at the famous memorial. Surrounded by the Unknown Soldier Guard, joined by former presidents Barack Obama, George W. Bush and Bill Clinton, Biden and Harris are august and contrite. The 21-gun salute commences. They’re laying their hands on the wreath. Harris is bowing her head. Biden is making the sign of the cross, Catholic style. Now he’s saluting. I wonder if he’s thinking about his son Beau. I’m sure he is. I’m tearing up.
It’s so quiet there. Only far off traffic can be heard through the media cameras. There’s a type of poignancy in the air. It’s hard to describe. It’s solemn, sure, but there’s something else, a strange combination of urgency and relief, an underlying duality of commemoration and humility. A military bugler is playing Taps. I’m thinking of all the lost lives this last year. I’m thinking of all the kids, peoples of color, and whiteboys alike, who’ve prematurely lost their lives in this country, regardless of the rhymes and reasons why their deaths happened. I’m thinking of my father, an Air Force Korean War veteran, and what he might be thinking of on this day. Taps is a resonant song for any occasion marking loss, and today is especially significant, after our last foul year of Covid and clusterfuck.
It’s another emotional day at the Capitol.
Tonight, there’s a ‘Celebrating America’ Inauguration Concert, hosted by the likes of Tom Hanks, Kerry Washington, and Eva Longoria. Performances from the Foo Fighters, Jon Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, Justin Timberlake, John Legend, and Demi Lovato are forthcoming. Bit of a farther cry than Scott Baio, Jon Voight, and Smash Mouth. Why do nearly all the alt-right’s favorite entertainers from movies and television and music tend not to embrace their sociopolitical ideologies? It seems anathema to their favorite conspiracy that Hollywood is a bunch of socialist, Satan-worshipping pedophiles. That’s the thing about that Q stuff. They’d never watch Dirty Harry or Iron Man again if they knew definitively that children were being groomed and slaughtered for adenochrome in the bowels of Hollywood studios. Behind closed doors, they’re still patronizing plenty of Hollywood. It’s our national pastime, our media fictions. They’re as likely to give up the Star Wars universe as Scott Baio is to revive a reboot of Happy Days. Not gonna happen.
President Biden and his family are walking down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House, where he’ll go straight to work, signing what’s estimated to be at least 17 executive orders, many of which rescind a number of the former administration’s missteps.
These first day orders apparently include rejoining the Paris climate change accords and the World Health Organization, a mandate requiring masks and social distancing on all federal properties, revoking the travel ban on Muslim visitors, immediate termination of the construction and funding of That Guy’s Mexico wall, cancelling the permit for the extension of the Keystone XL pipeline from Canada to the Gulf, launching an initiative for federal agencies to review their policies of racial equity and deliver action plans on disparities within 200 days, rescinding that last week’s patently racist 1776 Commission, revoking the former plan to exclude non-citizens from the census, a prohibition order curtailing discrimination for LGBTQ peoples including their ban from serving in the military, and extending the moratorium on student loan payments.
Wow! That’s some radical, leftist, Day One razzmatazz! What’s next? Bread lines gotta be right around the corner.
Should I order my drab, olive green, proletariat fatigues now, or wait until Nike coughs up an Air Socialist limited edition?
Hey, guess what?
No violence or riots or mass insurrection attempts today as of yet!
How ‘bout them oranges?