I’m in a t-shirt. On November 7, just swept the thousands of leaves from my front path yet again, in a t-shirt, in the heat. It’s terrible and wrong. And wonderful. I know, we’ll pay.
It’s so strange. The world is on tenterhooks, waiting for the dumpster fire of American politics to explode tomorrow. My cousin Barbara in Washington D.C., a stalwart Democrat, will be working at a polling station with her husband, despite her compromised immune system and the fact that almost nobody except them will be wearing masks. She’s endangering herself to do her bit for their endangered democracy.
A segment on 60 Minutes last night about how the algorithms of social media encourage and feed on anger and outrage, without any need for objectivity and truth – that it will be necessary to regulate and restrict those dangerous sites, like cigarettes.
The hideous war in Ukraine, the roiling in China, North Korea, Iran, Venezuela – another segment on 60 Minutes – such excellent journalism – about the plight of the thousands of Venezuelan refugees fleeing to find safety in the States, only to be left in limbo if not sent back. Not to mention countless natural disasters around the world and in our own country. Schools on strike here today, with our lying incompetent premier just now making empty promises on the radio.
Yet all that matters here, for a brief moment, is this:
