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Showing posts from September, 2020

The humanity factor: Pick your poison

Lots of people have drawn parallels between UK prime minister Boris Johnson and our own lovable commander-in-chief Donald Trump. Examples include their mutual conservative leanings, nationalist screamings and wispy – Brits might say “candyfloss” – hair. If you want to see an entertaining comparison of the two that might end with you wishing you were a Royal subject instead of a colonist, watch John Oliver’s expose from a year or so ago. More recently Johnson and Trump have shared membership in the “screwed the pooch on COVID” club. Johnson famously began the journey suggesting that building widespread COVID immunity through mass infection was the way to go, while Trump went for the far simpler, “this is not the pandemic you’re looking for” Jedi mind trick. Neither worked and, since then, both have had to moderate their approaches and modulate their rhetoric – somewhat. But differences remain. For one thing, the US has over 208,000 COVID related deaths , which is the worst possible

Insurance is a four-letter word

Dear Readers, I have been ghosting you for the last several weeks, and for this I am sorry. I have excuses, sure. I’m a man, after all, and as any woman can tell you, a dude has nothing if he don’t have a whole pocketful of excuses. For starters the rising temperature in political rhetoric has me somewhat traumatized. It’s impossible to escape, even though I’ve seriously curbed my intake of news and commentary. But you can’t avoid it entirely, not by quarantine, not by turning the TV off. It seeps through, and it’s ugly. Then there’s work. I work in the insurance industry and if you want to see what it’s like to be universally vilified, mention the words “insurance company” to someone at a party. Many people think Donald Trump is the human incarnation of Satan himself, but you still have a better chance of finding someone who will defend him at a cocktail party than you do finding someone to say a nice word about insurance companies. Which is unfair, by the way, because the very origin

The fault in our bipolar stars

 Kanye West for President. No, wait – I’m sorry – that wasn’t an endorsement, I was just reading aloud, shaking my head and rummaging around the kitchen for more bourbon. If you’re in Pennsylvania, you don’t need to worry because he won’t be on the ballot. But let’s be clear: if you do, for any reason, feel compelled to throw your vote away in an entirely invisible gesture that seems to say, “I don’t believe things could get any worse than they are right now, so let’s dance!” know that you can always write-in a vote for West, or his wife Kim , or their daughter North .  Short aside: While I condemn Kanye and Kim for imposing their dipshit reality-show-gone-awry cooties on their progeny, a not-small part of me is absolutely salivating at the prospect of an autobiography from their first born someday. It would be called North by North West , and she would have no idea why that’s funny. I am not a rap fan, which will not surprise anyone. Although I knew his name, I first became aware of K