It seems as though I read a while back — which, in this insane time, could mean anything from two days ago to a year ago January — that Trump deliberately uses bad grammar, random capitalizations and misspellings in his tweets, because that’s the way “the base” writes, and it helps them claim him as their own.
I believe it. Or, as we say these days, put that in your pipe and smock it.
Folks, I’m feeling out of sorts this week. Dunno why. I’m just slow and sluggish and fat and farty and tired. My knees hurt, and all I want to do is read about Michael Cohen and his bottomless misery, as well as his future in an orange jumpsuit.
So let’s get to the bloggage, because I have to be back at work in…eight hours.
What was I saying about maybe trying to get into “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel”? I don’t think so anymore. I think Emily Nussbaum hits that nail pretty squarely. Reminded me of why I quit watching in the first season.
For you Hoosiers and Buckeyes: The estrangement of the Amish Cook from the editor who launched the column (and, she suspects, cheating her out of her end).
I think I know why I’m not feeling it this week: We reached the end of the most recent Great British Baking Show, and the WRONG PERSON won. Team Ruby all the way here. Or even Kim-Joy. But not…him.
Into the rest of the week, then.