What's In a Name?

One of the most often quoted verses of Shakespeare occurs in Act II, Scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet when Juliet says, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, By any other name, would smell as sweet".  The adaptations of that line have been countless and involve permutations that are  humorous, witty, wry and sometimes vile, gross and disgusting, but the core phrase remains as one of the quintessential "go tos" for poets and romantics from all nations, cultures and ages. Today I would present, as a slogan of sorts, a new twist with this adaptation "What's in a name? That which we call tyranny by any other name would smell as intoxicating".  I want to replace the word intoxicating with the word Putrid, but hear me out (or read me through).  

There are so many of us that want to scream, myself included, about how blantantly obivious Mr. T. Rumpious Blitherspoon is in his parade of imbecility, immorality and larceny.  Our screams go largely unheard or dismissed by those who most need to hear, even by those who have a professional obligation to hear and to report what they have heard.  So what is going on?  I posit that we need to start thinking of the Orange Oyster Cult as a group that came to the wapatuli party expecting a good time. But by the time it became apparent that this party wasn't what they thought it would be, they were too drunk to notice.  I remember those parties in college.  Often thrown by the Frats, with their HUGE garbage cans filled to the brim with fruit juices and any form of booze you could imagine, being thrown in "for flavor".  One small cup of that stuff would blow up any self respecting internal combustion engine, but we drank and and yelled "Party Party" as others more brain dead than the rest, attempted to swig down large cups of the swill.  Ah those were the days.  But those days are still with us on the National stage.  Many of those (if not all of those) still following T. Rumpious got to the party, drank the wapatuli and now just don't have the wherewithall to find the door out.

Now is not the time to be righteous, snotty and superior. To be the parents at the door, when they sneak in smelling like the inside of a the men's room at a Brewers game,  Now is the time to staff up our Al Anon call centers and make it safe to talk about what they saw that attracted them to T-Rumpious in the first place.  I work with a lot of those people.  They still think that T-Rumpious is the best candidate for office, but then I say to myself, "well of course they do, they're still three sheets to the wind."  The past couple of weeks have been shockers that have sobered some of those who were on board, awake enough to back away.  Sort of like when you almost hit that street sign and say, "hey I better just pull over for a bit". But others will just keep going, because they're just too intoxicated to make reasoned decisions, and that's profoundly upsetting and sad.  I would like to make a plea, however, on their behalf.  Let's just keep being there for them if and when they do come home.  We can't make them or argue them into COMING home, but we can just be there and greet them with love and compassion if they do.  Like my mom used to say "God gave us two ears and one mouth.  Which do you think we're supposed to use more?"