Who needs the word of God? We’ve got lawyers!
Remember how jubilant some of us were in 2012, when the Supreme Court decided to hear a case on the definition of marriage? Looking back, the whole thing smacks of an exercise in hubris.
So God was wrong about marriage, was He? And you nine lawyers are right?
That doesn’t strike me as a safe world to live in.
So the phone rang a few minutes ago, and I thought my editor was calling me… but it wasn’t.
“Hi, Grandpa.”
“Who is this?”
“Your grandson.”
I don’t have a grandson, so I hung up. It’s been years since we got this scam tried on us. I’m your grandson (name never volunteered), and I need bail money/need to pay off a loan/gimme yo’ money, whatever.
Obviously what they’re trying to do is get hold of some hopelessly senile Joe Biden types and swindle them out of their money. Isn’t this shameful? It’s like the whole Western world sinks to a new low every day. They hope their victim doesn’t even remember whether he has a grandson or not.
Preying on the helpless. What kind of subhuman parasite does that?
I’ll bet we get nine or ten scam phone calls every day.
And then there’s Congress…
I had a dream which troubled me, the other night. I pay attention to dreams: they might be trying to tell me something.
I dreamed Patty and I, in her car, were returning home across the broadest stretch of the Raritan River, which required us to cross a bridge. It wasn’t any of the bridges that are really there. It looked old, like it might’ve been built in the late 1930s.
There was almost no traffic, and very soon we had to slow down because there was so much litter strewn about: beer bottles, garbage bags burst open to disgorge their contents, damaged cardboard boxes. The lane itself grew narrower. And there were people aimlessly shambling this way and that–drunks and druggies. They didn’t seem to notice us. Or much of anything else, for that matter. Looked sort of like a scene from the Sumerian underworld. We could only pray we wouldn’t run over any broken glass and become a part of that scene ourselves.
We came off the bridge to find the highway in much the same condition, as far as the eye could see. It’s not supposed to be like this. Not like this at all.
Then the cat shoved the bedroom door open and yowled at the top of her lungs.
I think maybe I’ve seen more pictures of San Francisco than is good for me.