The Dalai Lama, Post Traumatic Election Syndrome, and Fight On

So, when I was a little kid, we lived right next door to the Coliseum; could've walked to the University of Southern California campus. Last time I saw my early childhood home, some bad guys were using it to sell crack. These days, I could say the same thing about the White House.

And I remember the day my big brother took me to my first USC football game. I saw the horse, the pageantry, and the colors and I was SOLD. I read Homer's The Iliad for the first time when I was about 12-years old and you'll still never convince me the Greeks could beat the Trojans on a neutral field. And recalling my grammar school memory of JFK’s inauguration speech, I would’ve said the same thing about a game show host winning the presidency…of the freakin’ United States!

Ever since USC lost to the Texas Longhorns at the Rose Bowl in the BCS National Championship game…after winning 34 straight, I've probably needed some level of intense counseling. I wore black the next working day back in 2006 and I’ve been back in dark, dank mourning ever since November 8, 2016.

I know for sure I drank more than my usual election night Belvedere martini quota back on November 8. And even though I still begin every day affirming I’ll be “powerful, positive, and fearless”; things have changed. Ever since November Taco Tuesday gone bad, I return home as quickly as possible to CNN, falling sound asleep in front of the tube drooling outa both sides and dreaming the president and all of his surrogates are safe and sound…living in a monastery featuring a golf course, no WiFi, and a staff composed of Jesuit nuns…in a location more remote than a progressive dental office in Mississippi.

Seeing a game show host (who was no Gene Rayburn) win the presidency was like; I don’t know, maybe a brain surgeon with narcolepsy or an Interior Secretary who can’t spell “ecology” or a Education Department leader who hates public schools or an Energy Secretary who can’t always remember the name of his department. Oops! Oy vey! I forgot; that’s the stinkin' game show cabinet!

And I guess for me, it’s just been too much. I knew I was addicted to CNN and far from being “powerful, positive, and fearless,” I’d become more like “frustrated, negative, and sarcastic.”

So, I called my mentor, the Dalai Lama, His Holiness, HH; it had been almost 4-years since our last conversation. But I needed help and I needed it fast. As usual, we met right across the street at El Pollo Loco.

"His Holiness, many thanks for your valued support on such short notice. I'm experiencing dark depression reminiscent of that generated by my dreaded dental school nemesis, Dr. Ricky "wrath of" Kahn.

JVB, again, call me HH; this isn't our first rodeo. And I always enjoy my visits to your peaceful hamlet. Are my eyes betraying me or have your chosen leaders finally succeeded in building something on the corner of Rosemead and Las Tunas?

HH, it took them more than 10-years; so, I didn’t have to run down Las Tunas wearing only a tutu. But I think I really need your help this time. I know in the past, you've provided understanding and healing allowing me to overcome insurance programs and editors, not of sound mind, and even USC losing the 2006 Rose Bowl. But this time it’s different.

JVB, are you not still the foremost elite athlete/scribe/DDS-type in the San Gabriel valley? Please allow me to share some thoughts that comfort me in times of darkened stress. JVB, sometimes when my mood is good and there is no danger of malaria, I avoid swatting mosquitoes, sometimes watching with interest as they suck my blood. But if you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito."

Okay HH, I think you're saying game show hosts who cannot speak in complete sentences can be underrated when we assume. And these game show hosts and their intellectual kind can do some real damage if we remain passive and allow incompetence to become the new normal.

JVB, people take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost…probably just means they're dictator wannabes who long ago arrived at their harmonious level of incompetence.

HH, are you really saying Trump needs to go?

JVB, you remind me of Einstein. Now get me to LAX!

HH, A thousand thanks, I'm feeling better already."