Weirdly, I had a dream last night.
It was the night before Biden’s inauguration, and for some reason I was hosting Donald and Melania Trump at our house (or possibly backstage at the inauguration, but it was our house). Maybe they booked us because we did such a good job looking after them when they visited Finland to meet with Big Daddy Putin.
It was decidedly odd. I had a chat with them both, and found Donald to be … pleasant. Like his public and online personae were just an act. It was all fairly quiet and inoffensive, even though I was trying to be critical and challenging, I found I had very little to say because he was so laid back. I did get a bit of a zinger in, while explaining the great influence my older sister has had on my life, personality and ideology. Donald was like, “ah, your family in Australia,” and I said, “yep, I’m one of those immigrants who didn’t bring his whole extended family with him when he moved into the country.”
I meant it as a “not all immigrants are bad and it’s not a takeover by foreign powers, it’s just diversity” statement, but Melania asked whether it was maybe a jab at her and the way she’d brought her parents into the US. It was mildly amusing.
And then they bought one of my books! I was looking around my bookshelves for a spare paperback to give them, and getting agitated because they’d all been cleared away somewhere, when I woke up.
I mean, that was weird, right? They don’t read.
Happy Inauguration Day. Welcome to the world, President Biden. Don’t fuck it up, it’s already a huge mess.