I badly wanted to write about pop culture this week. I have loads of hot takes on things like Absolute Batman, the newest album from Robbie Williams, my current (always behind the times) obsessions, Only Murders in the Building, and Welcome to Wrexham — and any number of other gripes and japes around all things in the zeitgeist.

But you already know what happened on Saturday, January 24th in Minneapolis. The same thing also happened on January 7th. Same city. Same reason. I could fill my entire column with my outrage. But that won’t bring back the dead. It won’t remove ICE from Minneapolis. It very likely wouldn’t change a single person’s opinion — which these days is already immovable as Fred Dukes. You pick your side, and you bend rationality like Wanda Maximoff… until it suits the team whose colors you brandish.

Sadly, we live in a time where our published opinions can come back to haunt our professional lives. Never mind your station, if the powers that be should ever hear one peep from someone pointing their finger at your shared ire, that can become grounds for dismissal. It’s why multiple friends of mine working in education have stifled themselves — due in part to being made to sign documents at the top of the school year that prevents them from oversharing on social media. Seriously. Luckily for me? I’m merely a pixel pusher in an unrelated business, and am near certain not a single one of my coworkers reads a word I write unless it’s on Slack… denoting to them their project is ready for review. Consider this my rolling of the dice. But I digress.

Like many in my social circles… I’m past the stage where I’m joking when I consider the very real possibility of things like World War 3, or Civil War 2. I’ll admit I clicked on more than a few ads about emigrating to a Tim Hortons until the current administration takes their last unnecessary aspirin. Sad when a double-double, maple bar, or brain aneurysm are my current pipe dreams, eh? Were my family and best friends not here in the states, I would be a bit more zealous on Zillow. 

It’s genuinely hard to get hyped about the Oscars, the Scrubs continuation, the next season of Invincible, or any number of other distractions when the crisis of the hour is perpetually covered, re-covered, and then opined on ad nauseam. The worst part of that system is now when actual news occurs? I have to look at the time stamp, and then who is actually reporting. And then I have to google the story, and check a few sites to ensure it is, in fact, actually news. By Cronkite’s ghost, I beseech thee, Bill Kurtis. 

The fact is, nothing really has changed. It’s only gotten worse. I think back not that long ago, and recognize I couldn’t quite fathom how much further we could fall. And my thoughts on guns haven’t lessened an iota (however that’s measured). Holding out hope for the mid-terms, or a McDonalds’ induced infarction isn’t sustainable for anyone’s mental health. And it might not hurt to denote my children have had two “e-learning days” in the past four days due to global warming — which I was assured via tweet is not actually a thing. I’m losing sanity like the melanin in my beard.

Everyone I trust in the political spectrum says that now is the time to fight. But I’m begging anyone to tell me what that even means. To some? It’s tossing more money at themselves, or other like-minded candidates. To them, I scoff loudly. I personally donated more money to the Kamala Harris campaign than I’d donated to any other politician in my life — while I was unemployed no less — and it seemingly did bupkis. Others ask that I head out into the street and protest. I’d be happy to join those masses, but again, I can’t see the forest for the trees there. I’m a husband and father of four. I have a day job I genuinely love. I have a permanent side hustle that I’ll never abandon. Walking out to the streets of Chicago to join tens of thousands to declare I’m unhappy won’t stop what’s going on. I’m not trying to be a nay-sayer. Truly. I’m simply at a loss of seeing how it rationally plays out. I have too much to lose and too many depending on me to become a vigilante — and admittedly not enough backbone or bat-gadgets to be one. 

What I can’t get past is that American citizens are standing up in their communities, and exercising their First Amendment rights… and to this, are being publicly attacked and/or murdered. In public. On camera. And then, with literal damning evidence strewn across the cloud in milliseconds, we’re being told by those in power that we did not see what we saw. Or worse, what we saw was the fault of the victims who chose to simply not stay in their homes and narc on anyone without blonde hair and blue eyes. That I am raising children during these times and doing my darndest to make this all make sense to them… “didn’t think I’d ever have to do this…” seems inappropriately innocuous. 

Last week, while sitting idly awaiting the proper time to let my nine-year-old out of the minivan to walk to school, he asked, tepidly:

“So… like. Trump. He’s a super villain, but like, in real life?”

I often listen to CNN in the mornings while dropping off three out four of my kiddos to school. It seems Colton is now old enough to hear the adults speak instead of the womp wah wah womp wah that normally occurs ala Charlie Brown.

“Well, buddy. In a way, yes. Trump is rich, like Lex Luthor. And just as petty. But unlike him, Trump is dumb. Like… Solomon Grundy.” 

Colton thought about that for a minute. The clock struck 8:08, and I opened the door. “Have a great day. Learn something. Be good!” I chortled.

“I will. And maybe, I don’t know, Trump will have to go back to the swamp to regenerate, but we could like… capture the swamp and shoot it into space? Then maybe we could listen to music in the morning?”

I’m sold. 80’s on 8 it is.