My idle speculation about Trump’s Russian connection, posted before I took a break to deal with packing and such, provoked an outpouring of comments and cross-comments. It even offered Robert Shore another opportunity to insult me, something that seems to give him a perverse pleasure and perhaps feeds his sense of superiority. I confess that I grow weary of his insults, especially since I rather imagine I was publicly attacking American Cold War policy roughly when he was graduating from diapers to big boy pants. Give it a rest, Bob!
Meanwhile, really really bad stuff is happening, stuff that threatens to deprive ten or fifteen million Americans of health care and to kill a goodly number of them. So far as I can tell from the reporting, our best chance to stop this is the Senate. All we can do is to continue to protest as loudly as possible, in hopes of giving a few Senators or two handfuls of Representatives pause. The media seem to be making a good deal of noise about the harm these measures will cause, but that may not have an effect.
Much has been made of the fact that Trump’s favorite demographic will be hard hit by the unravelling of health insurance. Indeed so. All those deaths seems a rather high price to pay for the opportunity to say “I told you so.”
This country may be the Greatest Nation on Earth, but it is currently a really hateful place to live.
Since preparing to sell our apartment and move has robbed me temporarily of my natural good spirits, perhaps I might offer one more complaint [which I do not mean either in the medical or in the Metaphysical Poetry sense]: when I write a post that is patently intended as humorous, if you must respond, as indeed I hope you will, please find something to say other than to quibble about singulars and plurals. As stand-up comics say, you are a hard room.