You Know It’s Time

TO POST WHEN friends start emailing tentative “You OK?” noises, and the wife notes that it’s been over a week since your last post. (“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven days since my last blog post.” “Five Hail Glenns, a Hat tip to Billy Beck, and one act of snark. Go and sin no more.”)

I do plead the press of business. That’s busy-ness, not bidness, although in this case, they’re not mutually exclusive.

Posts I meant to write and let slide include a Caturday post about how the two Siamese pictured awhile back have been picking on the third — Ms Jazz. Not sure why, or even what caused the conflict to simmer down, as it appears to have done in the last couple of days.

I’d also intended taking note of how the old brick warehouse across the Parkway from the back of our house is being torn down. It was a cool, funky, old brick warehouse from the turn of the 20th Century. It had been neglected and vacant over the last 25 years that we’ve lived here — occasionally occupied by your typical demi-urban loft dwellers (artists, musicians, small manufactories), occasionally empty. Most recently, we’d begun to notice long, jagged cracks in the brickwork that seemed to indicate massive settling or slippage in the shale slope on which the building rests, so it was only a matter of time. Regardless, it’s a jarring note in our pleasant little woodland ravine, and leaves a large gap in the psychic skyline.

And there was the singular event of Number Three Grand-daughter’s Fourth birthday. Held in the back yard at Number One Daughter’s — grilled meats, cake, and ice cream, and only one melt-down from the assembled pre-schoolers. (After Toni and I left.) Nothing to report about family tensions and the like. Move along.

And that’s the last week-and-a-half.

Yeah, I was pissed about the wetback president trying to meddling our internal affairs. Funny how that bar only swings one way. Also no end of irony about how, if we were to remake Messico in our image, it would probably be an improvement.

And, yeah, I’ve been totally bummed about how even people who claim to have studied the matter still can’t seem to face the fact that Islam is not a religion, but a toxic political ideology that has benefited mankind not one whit. I’d like to dispose of once and for all the cavil that “Surely you don’t want to go to war with a billion Muslims?” I don’t care. First: I sincerely doubt the claim as to the numbers. Second: how many of those are fair-weather Muslims who make a hollow profession of faith because it’s worth their lives to do otherwise? Seems every belief system exceptIslam recognizes that a forced conversion is worthless.

What about collectivism?

Not so much forced as gulled.


See the difference?


But otherwise, it looks good for the home team in November — if they don’t totally boot it — and we’re on a roll. I even see hope for the future that this one might be sustained past the next election. And that’s a good thing.

And, now, it’s time for bed. I put the A/C units in the windows Sunday, so we’re sleeping in cool, white-noise-sound-blocked comfort.

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