Been reading Lester Bangs and Isaiah Berlin. The former for some going, gone, gonzo. The latter for pushback on English romantics and German nihilist. And for further enlightenment, I picked up forty or so of my shirts from the laundry…medium starch.
And as appetite has deserted me, my need for nicotine has become chronic. Wait. Wait. I don’t want to hear any boo-hissin’ from those in a country that have dismissed the coronavirus to the tune of 70,000 new infections a day.
But you Foreigners can take a shot. That’s fair.
And our dog is on his last legs. Losing weight, and more often I’m having to help him lift his hind quarters. He’s been our puppy for a decade. His name is Coda. Our last dog. We love him. And if our veterinarian doesn’t relax his shop’s current pandemic protocols, Coda too, will die without family present. I think I can get around that. But it’s just another damn awful circumstance to think about and prepare for.
They be saying-Play Ball-be just around the corner. I say, LOOK IN YOUR OTHER HAND… YOU GOTTA GOLD WATCH.
MLB “wishful thinking.”