At Some Point You Gotta Dance

It’s fairly common knowledge that the typical, high school hierarchy affords jocks and cheerleaders Mt. Olympus magnitude godhood. To be sure, this is a nerd-free zone. And I should know. During my junior high days, I had actually worn a plastic pocket protector to house my pens and pencils. YIKES!

Later on, as a somewhat “cooler” high schooler, one Friday evening, I attended both a varsity football game and the postgame dance. No big surprise, I went to that latter event, STAG. Throughout the next two hours, as the Student Council designated disc jockey kept on spinning the vinyl records (only one turntable) I found myself wondering why I had even bothered showing up.

However, as the 11th hour drew near, I suddenly found myself teeming with this overwhelming, what-do-you-have-to-lose determination.

Between records, while the kids “argued” over which song would be next, I abandoned the shadowy sidelines and approached the still sporting her cheerleader uniform, Nancy. It’s not like we had never met, seeing how we were enrolled in some of the same classes. Our conversing came quite easily / naturally. And then… I asked her…

“Would you like to dance?”

Sans any hesitation, she smiled and said, “Sure.” For all I knew, her accompanying shrug might’ve even been equivalent to her unspoken, “What the hell took you so long?” I could only hope that my stunned feeling had not become a facial expression.

At that very moment, from the overhead speakers, we heard the opening notes of the Youngbloods’ cover version of Get Together. I hadn’t expected to be slow dancing up close but…

Well, it was about mid-tune, that I realized the DJ had cued up the longer album version, which afforded me one extra minute to not only enjoy our dance, but also realize how wrong it was… still is… to prejudge people… to buy into the dehumanizing stereotypes and hierarchies… the type which can only fracture society. Even Jesse Colin Young’s delivery of Get Together’s lyrics was amplifying the unifying sentiments.

Ever since my dance with Nancy, I’d certainly disagree with anyone who’d dare to suggest that proper education only involves teachers and formal classroom settings. I believe I learned far more during that four minute song than I learned during all four years of my high school experience.

Now, at the risk of spoiling the moment, let’s explore another, closely related aspect to my narrative… namely… the practical application of such truths.

There’s a certain… let’s leave him nameless… “world leader” who fancies himself my homeland’s Cheerleader-In-Chief. While I would never dance to any of the ugly ideologies spinning around within his noxious noggin… to a certain extent… I’d still have to agree with him that it’s important to calm citizens who might panic easily.

Of course, unbeknownst to him, being an effective leader involves far more than that.

What a shame he’ll never dance with the metaphorical Prudence. There’s so much her style of cheerleading could teach him. For starters, how it’s wrong to prejudge and buy into dehumanizing hierarchies and stereotypes. Beyond that, he could learn that a cheerleader can only motivate Team America, so much… especially when formidable opponents (such as the pandemic and economic / societal upheaval), are threatening to shellac us / shut out the U.S. on our own, home playing field.

To extend this sports metaphor, further, Prudence would point out that, ultimately, it’s the coach… not the cheerleader… who leads the team to victory.


Stay Safe at Home! Stay Publicly Masked! Stay Healthy!








The Cheerleader-In-Chief


The coronavirus crisis, of science denier Donald J. Trump’s own making, has denied Americans their lives and livelihoods on a massive scale. One would expect the bad karma associated with his mucking up Pandemic Management 101 to be sufficient to deny him reelection. But will it?

Not if his ego and power tripping have any say in this matter. It’s fairly safe to say there’s nothing he would not do to snag a second, totally undeserved term. But, how far would he go?

Suppose he knew of an insufficiently tested, potentially dangerous vaccine, which he deemed “perfect” for huckstering just in the nick of time… i.e., one mere week prior to Election Day.

It’s easy to envision dense Donny donning his brilliant red, red state compatible, Santa Claus costume, hitching up Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (a.k.a. Rudy Giuliani) to his loaded with syringes sleigh and flying off all across America. Together, in all sorts of weather, they’d swoop down and land in municipalities great and small. That’s where “St. Nick” would play doctor and shoot up everybody. But, would he flat-out lie to his “patients”? Not disclose the iffiness of this serum?

Factoring in how fact checkers have caught him telling whoppers, tens of thousands of times, since his being sworn in, what would telling one more lie even mean to a pathological liar?

He doesn’t give a flying F about about public safety, either. After all, he’s the very snake oil salesman who’s been known to push the anti-malarial (contraindicated for COVID-19) drug Hydroxychloroquine… to instruct his “patients” to fry their guts with UV radiation and shoot up / mainline household (FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY) disinfectants.

Safe to say, he’d think nothing of morphing people into lab rats / risking more lives.

Of course, seeing how Christmas in July is only a crass, avarice driven, Madison Avenue concept, let’s strip this blog of its Santa Suit.

What we actually have, here, is Donny, the self-proclaimed Cheerleader-In-Chief. All he need do is cheer the people up long enough to vote for him come Election Day. And, were any of his always barren of science, horrific advice to cause his victims to drop dead the very next day… eh… so what? Easy come / easy go… well… at least from that sociopath’s perspective.

Oh, the unmitigated gall of his feeling entitled to a second term… in spite of his own negligence which, so far, has resulted in the needless deaths of 137,000 Americans. Hmm, doth grave digger Donny feel a compulsion to “up” his numbers to 1 Million? 2 Million? 200 Million? More?

Were he to politically bury his Democratic rival, too, it’d be easy to envision DJT reveling in his ill-gotten victory, giddily giggling his fat Fascist fanny off while uttering, “Anyone stupid enough to believe anything I say, deserves to die! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

Be his shoddy wares pharmaceutical or rhetorical, street smart people will just say “NO!” to whatever BS dope dealer Donny is pushing. And savvy voters will never allow Donald J. Trump the last laugh.