In Which I Ponder Our Peculiar Standards of Outrage

The magic Twitter machine reminds me that it was at this point in his presidency that we all lost our collective minds because Barack Obama put mustard on his burger. 

"This is an OUTRAGE!"

Good times, good times. Remember how we all laughed and laughed at that tan suit? And who could forget the scandal when he put his feet up in the Oval Office? Or that time when the right-wing scandal machine forced him to hold a "Beer Summit" because he'd offered up some tepid commentary on the white cop who arrested a black man for breaking into his own house. 

Remember how everything was going to be "Obama's Katrina Moment?" 

Well, that was then. Fast forward to 2017, where we now have a president who's twitter-obsessed with NFL, while Puerto Rico sinks into the sea. If ever there was a real life "Katrina Moment," this is it. Don't even start me on the petty "Rocket Man" taunting of a crazy dictator who happens to be armed with nuclear weapons. 

Times change, right? Where we once reeled with shock and outrage over the president's choice in condiments, we now blithely go about our lives while the world teeters on the brink of annihilation.  

We've become, if not complacent about the man-child who currently occupies the WH, resigned to his behavior. We expect it of him now, the way we expect our drunk uncle to pick a fight over Thanksgiving dinner, or our meth-addicted nephew to steal money for his next hit. Sad, infuriating, but whatayagonnado? We're too tired to make a scene right now, or call the police, or stage an intervention. Tough love is just so extreme, y'know? 

But sweet Jesus on a stick, sometimes it's a wonder we aren't all slobbering drunk before noon.