The night before his Jan. 20 inauguration, Donald Trump took the stage at the latest of his seemingly 60,000 campaign rallies to tease how enjoyable his swearing-in ceremony would be. “You’re going to have a lot of fun watching television tomorrow,” he vowed. While I can think of quite a few adjectives to describe how it felt watching him take public office for the second time — “nauseating,” “repugnant,” “a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day” — “fun” would not be one of them.
Yet, sitting on my couch with a slight wine hangover from trying to drown out my anxieties before America hastened its decline, it was hard not to be moved by the true sense of spectacle. Moved to laughter, that is. The entire affair wasn’t flashy in the way that presidential inaugurations usually are, with grand displays of talent and showmanship from stars and politicians alike to make us believe in the boilerplate pledges for a bright future ahead. Rather, this inauguration was downright goofy, an ostentatious demonstration of absurdist pageantry and empty promises. Outfits ranged from terrible to hideous, hats almost took out spectators’ eyes, people were shoulder-checked by marines and everywhere you looked, there was a blonde woman whose makeup artist despises her, with lifeless eyes reflecting her morally bankrupt soul. But more on Carrie Underwood in a minute!
