What's Going On?

I've voted in presidential elections for forty years. Yes, forty. I held my nose and voted for Gerald Ford in 1976, which really dampened my enthusiasm for finally reaching that magic age -- when I was legally able to cast a ballot. Still, I felt good about performing my civic duty and having the gumption to get out there and wait in line, even though I was eight and seven eighth's months pregnant.

There's no telling why I fell in love with the political process. Let's just blame TV. When I was barely a teenager, I watched the party conventions on my tiny black and white, and it was my sport; my Academy Awards. I remember seeing Everett Dirksen -- remember him? I was fascinated by his voice. It was low and it resonated in one's chest, like thunder clouds grumbling in the sundown sky. I didn't even know what party he belonged to; I watched both parties' conventions and didn't care, because at thirteen, I wasn't (yet) partisan. I just loved the spectacle.

As I grew older, I came to understand that conventions had a predictable flow. A bunch of party people came on stage and slathered the nominee with syrupy, patriotic praise; delegates in their straw bowlers hoisting tall signs in the air with the name of their state excitedly announced that "North Dakota casts it's thirty-one votes for the NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, Richard M. Nixon!!!"  Hoo-RAH!! And Oregon was giddy, knowing their votes were going to put the nominee over the top! Cue the fluttering noisemakers and confetti!

Of course, as time went on, we became so much more demure in our celebratory demonstrations. Because we were mature; serious. This was no time for frolicking. And frankly, some of the duds we've had in the Republican party didn't spur us to party like it was nineteen seventy-nine. Ford? Not a real rollickin' dude. Bob Dole? I loved the guy, but he was more ironic; not exactly in it to win it, but he showed up and gave it his all. Reagan? Well, that was a once in a lifetime phenomenon. That was a reason to party.

Not that the Democrats fared any better. In fact, I had to search my brain for some of their most lose-a-licious losers. Well, there was Michael Dukakis. Who, exactly, thought he'd make a winning contender? How about John Kerry? Remember how his grotesquely rich wife asserted that everyone called her "Mama", on camera, with all her paid minions kneeling at her feet? It was like one of those cringingly unfunny Saturday Night Live sketches.

By 2012 we had the spectacle of (traitor) Chris Christie extolling his own virtues, while ostensibly placing Mitt Romney's name into consideration. The best part of that whole convention was Clint Eastwood and The Chair. Surreal, but I, unlike many, loved it.

And now? Now I don't know what's going on. My forty years of surety have evaporated in a POOF! Now we're going to have some guy with a weirdly flip of flaxen hair standing up there, extolling the results of Matt Drudge's latest online poll; voicing his distaste for blonde Fox commentators who aren't named Greta; talking about "lyin' liars"; while we stand perspiring in the auditorium and glance at one another nervously, unsure where the applause line is supposed to come in. Nodding to our compadre from Terre Haute, Indiana; reassuring her that we haven't actually just elected the next president of the United States, Hillary Con Man Clinton.

So, you tell me...what exactly is going on here? Because I am flummoxed. The world as I knew it has flipped on its head, and I don't much like it.