Falling Up the Rabbit Hole

While laying out the current issue I experienced a brief and welcome respite from all the external sources of static that have polluted this column and prompted much adverse commentary from readers who felt compelled to respond. My self-generated discord is enough for most people, myself included. This vacation started without me even realizing it. As I sought solace from the passing horror show with cryptic crossword puzzles, a chunk of ice slid off the roof and knocked out our internet and telephone connections. During the two days I was denied the constant stream of unpleasant news, I managed to get a lot of work done. Incommunicado is lovely this time of year.

The Rabbit Hole is an apt metaphor for what we stumble into every time we step out into the sunlight. (Such divots are all over my yard, though I believe the groundhog is making them.) They used to be spelunked solely by what have been dismissively called “conspiracy theorists” but that was your father’s Grassy Knoll. Everyone is dipping in now. Alice in Wonderland might as well be moved to the non-fiction section.

For some time I have been beset by the conviction that “We’re all mad here”; others see everything as just peachy and wonder why I’ve been making a fuss. Reality itself (if I may call it that) feels like a hallucination. I get no comfort from the hordes who have adjusted their brains to what I never could have envisioned thirty years ago. As a nation we perceive the Mask of Cruelty as the Mask of Beauty and the Mask of Depravity as the Mask of Rectitude. I still can’t get a lens correction strong enough to see what everyone else is seeing.

I really am sorry to be a pest. No one likes a scold, and I have been guilty of the tendency to nitpick. On the first day of January a reader called out my myopia, and set me straight: “Mr. Senior, I wanted to comment on your November Static From My Attic column. Perhaps you should read some history books and go to a Holocaust museum to see what ACTUAL Fascism was. Perhaps it would keep you in the future from cheapening the meaning of the word by throwing it around in such a cavalier manner. It just makes you sound ignorant. Other than that, I enjoy TST. Happy New Year.”

Chastened, I replied, “I’d much rather not think about such things at all but they impose themselves on my attention. The November column was something I needed to dislodge and you’re not the only person who has told me I shouldn’t have written it. If you’re fine with what’s going on in the US right now then it really doesn’t matter what I think. This is the best of all possible worlds.”

It’s all just fine. Our country doesn’t need a Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. It’s too fancy-shmancy for everyday Americans. Operas and symphonies are a snooze. And most Americans don’t like or understand jazz. It’s not even properly written down like snooze music. Something more akin to Madison Square Garden (with gold accents) would be more in keeping with our national character. A Colosseum (with gladiatorial combat) would even be better. We could have combatants with broadaxes chasing Illegals and Domestic Terrorists to a disco beat. And the whole spectacle could be pay-per-view. Commodus never had it so good!

I’m trying to be a good American here, but there’s a vague unease I can’t quell—not even with good German pilsener, the Times of London crossword, and frequent naps. Not having the internet for a few days was some relief, with no commentators to catalogue and update each day’s dissonances. I could imagine myself back in the dear 20th century with my firm moral convictions and astigmatic eyes that somehow didn’t lie to me. This century has been lop-sided since the get-go, and I still haven’t gotten the hang of it. As such, I may be hopeless, and deserving of whatever epithets you may choose to hurl in my general direction.

There’s no getting past it. I’m just a great big sentimental poopy head who still believes in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I cherish not only jazz but snooze music and nice public venues where they may be enjoyed. And I don’t think gold is that pretty.

You may see things differently. I’ll consult with my optometrist and get back to you.