When last heard from, I was just the tiniest bit concerned about the Orange One, Der Toddler, Trumpty-Dumpty — has any human being had so many nicknames? — anyhow, I was worried about our POTUS leaving office while giving us the parting gift of a nuclear holocaust. I just couldn’t figure out how he would find a place where he would feel a sense of belonging, of HOME, ya know? And that might lead him to destroy EVERYONE’s home.
That was before I read an article in the Washington Post about Trump’s forthcoming immediate transition to his beloved private club, Mar-A-Lago. Here’s a quote from it:
- Rick Wilson, a longtime Republican strategist in Florida who is a senior adviser to the anti-Trump Lincoln Project, explained the state’s appeal to Trump — including that Florida’s Republican base is especially “Trumpy.”
- “It fits in with Florida’s overall character of being the magnet for all insanity in the universe,” Wilson said. “We are what we are in the great state of Florida, and that is a state of lives restarting and second-chances and reboots and low property taxes and liberal bankruptcy laws and a fairly casual approach to public ethics. Florida, in some freakish, horrible way, is the Trumpiest of states. This is the logical place for them to come.”
Now I no longer have a care in the world about a nuclear holocaust before Wednesday! Everyone who’s anyone in the Trump Family is already there or moving soon. Don Jr. and Kimberley already have a house. Ivanka and Jared are buying a homey mansion 15 miles away. I’m certain that Giuliani will find a room in some seedy hotel somewhere. Florida will welcome him rather than disbarring him, like grouchy old New York State.
I myself can attest to Florida being the most freakish state I’ve ever visited. I went there for the first time long ago when I was obsessed with Aileen Wuornos, the lesbian who made a living as a prostitute on the highway and was in prison in Florida for murdering several of her customers. I was at the time a member of the one and only Lesbian Wuornos Support Group.
See? Soliciting on the Interstate highway? Does this happen in any other state?
Anyhow, I hoped to actually talk to Wuornos, which never happened. I spent my days in the Orlando Public Library, poring over microfilm from the local paper, the Orlando Sentinel, reading all the articles about her, as the discovery of the crime, the search for the suspect, and the trial unfolded. In the process, I read many other articles and got a feeling for life in Orlando and Florida in general. And I was puzzled. As you know, I am a devotee of the daily newspaper. I was familiar with the New York Times, the San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times. And I felt there was something different about the news that the Sentinel was reporting. It just seemed that there were a lot more just plain weird things happening under the gimlet eye of the Sentinel than under the purview of the other three papers.
I consulted with my friend, Rosemary, who I was staying with. And she confirmed what I perceived: “Look at the map, Terry! The answer to the question is Geography. Just think about it. People who are weirdos and pariahs have to move away from the center, farther from whatever civilization they find themselves in. They keep moving and moving and finally they find themselves on this gigantic peninsula that projects far out into the ocean! And they cannot go any further because they’re surrounded by water! This is it! This is where all the strange ones end up — Florida!”
If I still had any doubts about this (which I didn’t), they would have been cleared up by Rosemary taking me to visit the little town of Cassadaga
Cassadaga is a small unincorporated community just north of Deltona, Florida. It is especially known for having many psychics and mediums, and has consequently been named the “Psychic Capital of the World”. Almost everyone living there makes a living as a psychic, and when a Floridian needs or just wants to consult a psychic, that person drives to Cassadaga and does so. At that moment, Rosemary was drawn to Cassadaga and was happy to take me.
I don’t know what it’s like now. I think I visited in the late 1980s. Then, it felt like the 1930s in a small town caught in amber. Small streets with little wood-frame houses. Many homes had big front porches with a man or woman sitting in a rocking chair, peacefully rocking. Rosemary told me you just strolled around until you found some particular rocker or house compelling. I did so. There was no one on the porch, so I knocked. I went in and got a reading from a woman. I have absolutely no memory of the encounter, but I do remember she charged $35, which was a lot of money at the time.
Anyhow, it was a fun day trip to another world. That is where Trump is going, and I am certain he’s looking forward to it and will not blow up the world.
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