A quick trip to the farm to break up a horrid week, then back to New York tomorrow night, inshallah.
So let's look at the news, rather than in the mirror, shall we?
But first a quick shot of the view outside right now.
And as a rare blessing, it smells wonderful out here. No cows, dog pens, or paper mill. Of course, I never really minded the cow patty aroma.
Speaking of cow patties, I shake my head daily at the clown in our governor's mansion. And "clown" is the right description, insofar as a clown dresses like the man on the street but not quite, drives a car just like ours but not quite--the joke is always that the clown is parodying the quotidian, parodying real life.
This government in Tallahassee fits that description, doing things that look like governance but not really. Clowns, led by a clown who's rise through the ranks was endorsed and enabled by a clown.
In this week's absurdity, the Wee Gov has signed into law a measure that criminalizes protesting in front of someone's home.
You get it, right? Like those libtards who used to have the right to make their own parenting choices until the Supreme Court decided, apparently, that the joke was on them. Now they're protesting in front of (some of) the justices' homes, and the right finds itself worked into a lather to protect those braves, black-robed folks who stood up for the right of evangelical legislators to smother the rights of others.
But none of those justices live in Florida. This is just political theater, as is most of what the Littlest Governor does. It's like he sits in his high chair in the breakfast nook of the Governor's Mansion, Fox News blaring from the TV on the kitchen counter as the Gerbers strained peas dribble down his chin, and decides on the spot to create a law to prevent whatever the coifed talking heads are puling about that particular morning.
And also, like much of what he's done lately, it's flagrantly unconstitutional. So much for Ivy League law degrees signifying a basic grasp of the law. Of course, to make that point would require convincing five of those same folks who've been happily whittling away at our Constitution for the last several years. So maybe this is just how things are in this late season of my life.
Someone has also made note of the obvious fact that (okay, no more short man jokes) Little Ronnie's profligate generosity to our reddest counties has been a charade, in that the money isn't actually his.
One has to admire the chutzpah: rail against the federal government, then take their money, our money, dole it out to mostly rural counties and show up on their Facebook pages as the savior of their firehouse or ballfield or hospital.
And, as I've mentioned before, most of that money is actually flowing south from places like New York and Boston, where the wealth is actually created.
Then again, it's hard to lie constantly and not have the occasional slip-up, as happened to the W in a speech this week.
That other war has in fact sort of undercut our moral authority in decrying the brutality taking place in Ukraine right now. Most of the world seems to see us as hypocrites. Most of the world is right.
Man, it's actually starting to get hot out here at eight in the morning, and we're not three full weeks into May. Wishing I was spending the day here, that P was inside cooking breakfast before getting on the tractor while I work in the office, then into the truck bed pool with a cocktail and a little John Prine to usher in the evening.
But those days are long gone. No use wishing. Time only moves in one direction, and like the Confederate captain leading his company into the field at the outset of Pickett's Charge, all I can do is wave my sword forward and remind the troops--myself--that "home is that way". Not back to the safety of the trees falling away behind.
Time to get back to the war that is law practice these days.
Comentarios