Well, what a couple of days, eh? At the end of it, I only know one thing for sure: “Putin’s niece” is a real dime, and George Papadopoulos was desperately hoping for that London meeting, so they could, y’know, have a drink, get to know each other better. I’m sure they’d exchanged pictures. Hers emphasized her Slavic cheekbones, his a certain Hellenic moodiness.
And I don’t have much to offer beyond that. There are hundreds of thousands of words of analysis, and I’ve only gotten through a few thousand. Plus, this story has now been overtaken by a terror attack in New York.
Still, is this the beginning of the end? Or the end of the beginning? Odds on a) firing Mueller; and b) pardons for convicted aides? Anyone?
I woke up today with a sore throat, which sent me into a reflexive panic for a moment – how will I do all the things I have to do while operating at .75 power? – before I remembered that I can call in sick, so to speak, and I did. Still applied for three jobs, two of which I could do in my sleep. I won’t get any of them, because this is a run of bad luck I’m just going to have to get through. And it sucks.
But a few the celebrity world: Stop calling Kevin Spacey a pedophile. He is — or apparently is, if recent revelations are to be believed — and ephebophile. The difference is the one between pre- and post-pubescent, but still underage, children. Pedos go for kids, ephebes for young teens. Both are terribly damaging in their unique way. Sexuality is a continuum, and ephebophiles no doubt see themselves as wise father/older brother figures, initiating the young into the world of adulthood. But it’s revolting just the same. Spacey’s going to have a long climb back.
It’s raining creeps. Still.
And Halloween is a wrap. I’m getting weary of the days-long candy thing. I give out candy on Halloween, to anyone who rings the doorbell, until it’s gone. I decline to participate in special trick-or-treat carve-outs — the special just-for-the-neighborhood hours, the business-district things, all of it. Halloween is one day, and it’s a good day, but that’s all it is. Or used to be. Adults ruin everything.
Back to nursing the ol’ throat.