Why am I so happy? Oh, come on now, I think you know.
After a rough evening, Mom and Dad are finally home. And that crazy babysitter—she's gone.
You remember her, right? She spent all night on your couch, watching roller derby and talking on the phone with her 27-year-old boyfriend. Then, when you tried getting her attention, she rolled her eyes, glared at you and fumed that "any four-year-old with half a brain can learn to use an oven. Make your own goddamn pizza rolls, you little snot cookie."
That's how I remember it, anyway. Then she'd say something like, "and save at least six of 'em for me. And don't burn 'em, either, you little shit sickle. Now leave me alone and go figure out where your sister went with that lawn dart."
Dad's driving her home right now. After that she's moving to Florida and you'll never have to see her again.
As of yesterday, this:
has replaced this:
It's been a long, long, long four years since the last inauguration. On that chilly Friday morning in 2017, this shot of Kellyanne Conway and Steve Bannon was snapped just after the pair had taken bong hits in Bannon's van. Thank God there was an amazing buffet a little later.
I joke, but good Lord, what an excruciating one thousand, four hundred and sixty days we've endured. That guy really sucked. But even though making fun of him and his cronies was easier than finding a new skin tag, nothing could eradicate the musty, menacing cloud that had engulfed DC, our country—the world—while that guy was still perched behind the Resolute Desk.
I won't dwell on what was. We've all lived through it. In fact, I think I'll take a cue from a couple of friends who refuse to let Orange Dye # 45's actual name pass their lips, a la Harry Potter's cruel nemesis, He Who Shall Not Be Named. There's no need to subject ourselves any further to a moniker that's grown synonymous with misery, right?
Witnessing the inaugurations of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris along with the other festivities, was just so, I don't know, cleansing, ecstatic, beautiful—pick your adjective. It was the celebration we've been dreaming of. I watched it for hours and hours, even the part where the Clintons, Bushes and Obamas stood at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, silently waiting for the presidential motorcade to arrive.
Although nothing was going on, I couldn't help but stare at these three couples, six people who uniquely understand the gravity and responsibility of the presidency. I despised George W. Bush as a president, but at least he follows the program. And he paints puppies now.
From VP Harris' historic swearing-in to Lady Gaga's triumphant, old school rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner," I was tearier than a four-eyed Billy goat in a patch of Walla Walla Sweets. Then, when Amanda Gorman took the stage, it wasn't until she'd finished that I realized my jaws had been stuck in the fully open position the whole time. I've never seen anything like it.
So crazy to realize that a mere two weeks ago, a flag-waving horde of cultists, racists and clueless looky loos, at our president's behest, decided that storming the U.S. Capitol was a good idea. Because, you know, our flight doesn't leave until 5:30, so why not we commit three or four quick federal offenses, go back to the Days Inn, order Dominos and rest up until it's time to call a Lyft? Hopefully, the partial Nancy Pelosi placard fits in the big suitcase.
We have so much to look forward to in 2021:
1) An administration whose agenda names criminal justice reform, climate and green technology investment, immigration reform, voting rights legislation and infrastructure renovation to its list of priorities for the first hundred days.
2) A comprehensive national COVID-19 strategy, along with a vaccination blitz that finally curbs the spread and slowly returns us to our wonderfully huggy selves.
3) An economy that explodes like never before (Sorry, that kind of sounded like him, didn't it?). So many folks lucky enough to have remained employed these past months may have accumulated substantial funds that otherwise would've been spent on travel, dining, maybe fantasy bowling camp. I predict a turbo-charged economic cash infusion as we enter the second half of 2021.
4) The improved COVID situation will allow for The Handmaid's Tale, season 4 to finally happen, because dystopia is so much more fun when it's fictional.
So truly, congratulations to all of us. While I understand that 74 million Americans don't share my enthusiasm, maybe some will when they see a little real-life benefit, such as the end of this God-awful pandemic. As it is, most of us take up residence far inland of the left and right extremes, and those are the people I'm resolved to have some good, tough conversations with, assuming they're up for it.*
*This will not be happening on Facebook, where civil discourse experiences an average shelf life of 4.73 comments.
As far as the QAnon conspiracy followers, White nationalists, Proud Boys and other racist douchebags, we have nothing to say to each other until you get some counseling.
Here's to a great 2021 and that somehow, some way we'll be able to clink glasses before the year's out. Thanks for keeping me company in 2020.
