Hejira

To the Gulf of...uh, whatever

Ahhh, the Great American Anywhere—the GAA! Endless Interstates and innumerable Hamptons and Red Roofs and Holiday Inns, and MickeyD’s and Subways, and Pilot Truck Stops and Stucky’s and all the rest. The never-ending billboard battle between evangelicals and personal injury lawyers, the latter gaining supremacy in recent years, even in the South. (Random thought as I drive along: if you sue an auto insurance company for trying to stiff you, will you be struck off their books…and remembered by Jake from Allstate and Flo and the Gekko as someone who sues insurance companies? Insurance is becoming a privilege not a right.)

I contain multitudes of road trips. I used to do it for a living, sussing the country for Time Magazine; now I do it once a year, to defrost in winter, from the Northeast to the Gulf of…whatever we’re going to call it now. But The Gulf of America has resonance—it sounds like a chasm, and the chasm surely exists. The American smirk has shifted from blue to red. NASCAR outdraws the NBA. My disdain for Trumpified pickup trucks has turned to wariness in these latter days. I note the North Carolina billboard: GUNS, AMMO AND FREEDOM! I note the Winnebago with a life-sized placard of Donald staring back at me from the trailer. I note the equivocal billboard: Christians and Politics? What Would Jesus Do? Answer: He wouldn’t. Unless you count politics as giving all your money to the poor. Could an oligarch slip through the eye of a needle? In cyberspace, perhaps—which may be the problem of our era.

There is an immensity to America. I watch those endless fields of slumbering tidewater soil: Who will pick their produce when the harvest comes this year?

I radio-toggle back and forth between CNN and The Loft on Sirius. The latter being the home of my sort of music—which is to say, every sort—and especially wonderful on Sundays when Meg Griffin and David Johansen hold forth (and yeah, this Hibernophile has a certain weakness for Larry Kirwan’s Celtic Crush, too.) But Megless seems a repeat this week—where are you girl? Are you coming back? I miss your chuckle—and David-Sri-Ramalamadingdong-Johansen’s exquisite Mansion of Fun seems closed for business this week (or perhaps, one hopes, on a creative bender). There are those of us, your devotees, Sri, who need your segues from Robert Johnson to Enrico Caruso to Del Shannon. The octaves of melody are gargantuan. You understand that better than almost anyone.

CNN is painful to endure, but what’s the option? The smugathons on MSNBC and Fox? No, but it’s easy to hear the bias on Chicken Noodle News, especially on the culture war stuff. Must there be a different Trans spokeswhatever every hour, bewailing the damage done by Trumpitude to their divided sensibilities? I have believed this since the Times and Post ran a piece about they/them almost every day: The Trans are too much with us. CNN is careful, though: Is Trumpseth banning all Trans troopers, or only those disabled by high-powered medications while in transition? We don’t yet know. Can ICE ice 1000 illegals a day, our new quota system? Donald’s publicity pump is set at sonic-shooter-level; the reality will probably be dribs and drabs. You would have to deport 1000 illegals a day for 1000 days to reach a million. That would only leave 10 million or so illegals to go. (Biden was deporting more than 300 a day. Quietly. Is this so different…except, noisily?)

Am I comfortable in my car, painted red and black in honor of Inspector Morse? Is this still MY America? Would I cower if Carolina police pulled me over for speeding? Arby’s still has the meats and Golden Corral has endless middle-class salad, but I do feel a little less at home out here. Trump has taken the country and there are subtle indices abroad in the land. In 2016, they didn’t know what they were doing; in 2024, they surely did. Intolerance has overwhelmed Grace; we need an extra layer of emotional clothing to insulate us from the dull thud.

Yesterday, I received a missive from my US Army surgeon friend, Dr. Dave, who says that the parents of immigrant children in his kids’ classes are scared to death. The kids are terrified, too. That is cruel and shameful. America has always been a violent place, but we pretend we’re not so cruel about our violence. Our violence is about our rights, about guns, ammo and…freedom. But the sharp corners of legality are being sanded down by Dictator Don, who illegally sacked a bunch of Inspectors General in the dead of night on Friday. This, while trumpeting fierce new law enforcement at the Border—a good thing, I think. But how much sanding down and corner-cutting can democracy take? How many pardons for traitors? How careless will we be with our legacy, the birthright citizenship that made our grandparents legal? Can I favor a stricter—and yet more expansive—legal immigration system? Can I favor the disposal of DEI preferences, but still be a little concerned about the fate and feelings of the churchified black gentleman with whom I sat and watched some football in the hotel lobby on Sunday night? Is crude the new cool?

I once made a vow that I would never end a story with the ultimate newsmagazine dodge: It’s too soon to tell.

But…

It’s too soon to tell.