Curse of the Fly
Our mail-in ballots arrived yesterday afternoon. I filled mine out this morning.
"No matter how cynical I get, I can’t keep up.” — Lily Tomlin
Our mail-in ballots arrived yesterday afternoon. I filled mine out this morning.
It still jars to have to think about, plan around, and reassure friends and readers we’re taking measures to stay safe during this goddamn pandemic. I don’t want it to be the new normal. There’s nothing normal about it.
If I was an observer on Mars, interpreting television signals from Earth, about all I could say with certainty right now is “something’s up, and I don’t like the looks of it.”
We’re watching the virus run rampant in real time among the most closely-watched group of people in the world. If this doesn’t bring the threat home, what will?
I didn’t think Biden should have agreed to debate Trump in the first place, knowing Trump would turn it into a shitshow, and didn’t want to watch. But I did, and Trump did, and that’s the last Trump/Biden debate that’ll darken my TV.
Never any lack of excitement around these parts.
When I flew the F-15 Eagle, I occasionally wrote articles for USAF publications.
Why is everything so goddamn hard? Fucking coronavirus. It’s easy to understand why so many people want to pretend it’s no longer a threat and get back to normal life.