As big a political junkie as I am, there is great relief in knowing that the elections are over. Finally.
Although the morning after begins with the airwaves and newspapers being filled with in-depth analyses of each and every election from every corner of the country, they’re easily ignored. That’s because what’s done is done and nothing will undo, for instance, Greg “Galoot” Gianforte’s re-election to the House of Representatives or Peter “Putz” Pence’s to the office of dogcatcher in Columbus, Indiana.
“There is a certain sense of loss, a sense of abandonment, a sense of emptiness,” offered my shrink, Dr. Günter Klaus von Grubersteingruber, who works days as a diesel mechanic. I was lying on a folding chaise lounge in the crowded backroom of his shop. The room was decorated with out-of-date nudie calendars and it smelled of cigarettes, burnt motor oil and sauerkraut. The space heater heaved from power surges. There was the occasional spark.
“You just need to return to your pre-erection routines,” Dr. Grubersteingruber said.
“Don’t you mean pre-election?” I asked.
“Vatever. Our time ist up for today. That vill be $185. See you next veek. Haff a nice day.”
Back at my desk, I powered up the computer, offered a silent blessing to Bill Gates, and discovered that the very nature of the Internet had changed overnight. No pop-up ads touting the ranching prowess of Matt Rosendale. No evidence of dark money. No ads from the NRA suggesting that they care about the Second Amendment (they don’t). No loops of Trump lying to the hundreds of red-hatted morons who cheered from red-state tarmacs, Air Force One looming impressively in the background.
While there was no shortage of sour grapes or of people lamenting and/or cheering the outcomes of Tuesday’s election, Facebook seemed oddly void of argument. Even the most bold and outlandish predictions of who might challenge Trump in 2020 were being met with collective shrugs of great indifference. You could almost hear the entire nation yawning.
Facebook had returned to its once-normal, pre-election self. I wondered aloud if I had.
Videos of cute kittens doing cute kitten things were again in plentiful supply. There were litter after litter of adorable puppies tumbling down carpeted stairs, knocking over garbage pails and eating whole couches—their irresistible little tails wagging in desperate pleas of innocence, their big brown eyes all bright and shiny, their little pink tongues lapping hungrily at their little dewy-wet noses.
I noticed a pronounced propensity for the sudden inclusion of videos of reptiles, none of whom do anything remotely cute but whose very images are enough to cause cold sweats hours after viewing. There were also ferrets and other weasel-like rodents representing the targets of the #MeToo movement.
There were absurd car wrecks, motorcycle tricks gone bad, air-borne skateboarders landing uncomfortably on metal railings, plaid-shirted Appalachians demonstrating the dangers of animal traps with their forearms.
Religion in the form of sweet phrases printed on floral backgrounds and intended to offer uplifting hope for today, tomorrow and all eternity were once again profuse. One woman on my feed posted 30 consecutive such messages. It was annoying. I politely asked that she limit herself to five such postings per day. Her response was on the low end of the polite scale. I then suggested that I would consider burning her house down if she failed to honor my request.
Ahh, Facebook. It can bring out the best in all of us.
Among the nearly 3,000 friends I have—but few of whom I actually know—there were signs of them returning to familiar businesses. FB offers untold opportunities to create Ponzi schemes and elaborate pyramid models for selling any number of products—most of them involving makeup, skin care products to repair the damage makeup does, vitamin supplements, dietary supplements for people who find eating to be something of an inconvenience, snake oil, and exercise programs that seem mostly to have their origins in either the Far East or in the upper reaches of Norway. Inquire about an exercise program and the algorithms magically kick in. Suddenly you have your choice of scores of places to buy $70 yoga mats and clothing that sheds an entirely unattractive light on fashion.
There are also any number of books for sale that offer advice on how to stop eating food that once had a mother. Really? Wean Yourself from Wienerschnitzel was one such title. Learn How to Love Kale, Quinoa, and Other Disgusting Foods was another. The Vegan Culinary Guide to Sawdust was my favorite.
There are also educational opportunities, many of them Trump University-like in design and effectiveness. Does anybody believe for even a minute that for a mere $750 one can learn to direct an Oscar-winning movie in just eight weeks of staring at a computer screen and listening to a director whose last cinematic effort starred Stormy Daniels? Similar opportunities are available in areas of art photography, novel writing, painting, sculpting, astral physics, modern musical composition, play writing, wine making, interior design and gourmet cooking. (I made up the astral physics thing.)
By the way, my instructional sports video, “How to Line Up Your Seventh Putt,” is scheduled for an early Spring release.
Like mine, the instructional videos that make no real promises of success at anything dominate YouTube. For the most part they are free, poorly made and significantly lacking in meaningful content. However, they are generally quite entertaining and typically feature serious injuries. And yet I’ve heard that many people have built entire houses from what they learned watching videos enticingly titled “How to Build a House,” “Finding a Stud” and “Roofing for Acrophobics.”
Personally, I watched three videos about how to put gasoline in my lawn mower and achieved great success just this past summer. Conversely, I watched a dozen videos about installing a fuel pump on a 1992 Dodge Dakota pickup truck, the very make and model of vehicle I drive. I learned that installing a fuel pump is not for the faint-hearted or for people who value their fingers. Such activities are also not for people who can afford new vehicles.
Failing that, I turned my attention to the many how-to videos about performing appendectomies. Those gave me both the knowledge and confidence I will need should such an opportunity ever present itself, which I’m sure it will.
One video that still has me intrigued, if not deeply disturbed, is the “new-this-year-for-Chistmas” DIY rhinoplasty kit from Black & Decker. The simple procedure is performed at home without anesthesia and guarantees a transformation that will subtly remind your family, friends and neighbors of Karl Malden.
Currently, however, my favorite YouTube offering is a culinary program that for reasons I can’t quite fathom didn’t make the cut at any of the Food Network’s 33 spinoff channels. Titled “Cooking with Power Tools,” Chef Bruno, a classically trained chef with his own chain of roadside waffle houses in Tennessee, is from an unnamed village in Nepal by way of El Paso, Texas. He demonstrates such handy tricks as peeling apples on a lathe, tenderizing cheap cuts of meat with a jackhammer, whipping fresh cream with a power drill, and buttering toast with a palm sander.
Just in time for Thanksgiving, next week’s installment of “Cooking with Power Tools” features Chef Bruno demonstrating how to carve a turkey with a Sawzall.
When does the next political season start?
Bagels with Lox
No sooner had the elections been decided—Florida and Georgia notwithstanding—than a discussion with one of my friends about bagels arose. Within minutes, people were weighing in on bagels they’ve had in places like Des Moines, Houston and Salt Lake City. Oy! It’s no wonder Trump is president.
Instructions for enjoying the perfect Jewish breakfast are as follows:
Fly to New York. Uber to Manhattan. Pick up a Sunday Times. Go to the first kosher deli you see. Order a plain bagel, toasted, with lox and a schmear. Sliced red onion and capers are acceptable, but by no means necessary. Enjoy some coffee, the paper, and your breakfast.
Do not try this anywhere else. Really. I’m serious.
Photography by Courtney A. Liska