Going To Name My Next Dog Windchill.
Snow showed, here in Chicago. An inch or two, a relative trace. I’m celebrating winter being back on pace by sharing a few white powdered doughnuts with Coda the Moose Puppy.
A late winter often leads to a Spring that decides to wait until next year, so situating the Cubs to play home game baseball in Alpine ski-wear until mid-June. Too often there are but three seasons here in the Windy City; July, August, and Winter.
But that blizzard of politics continues in the Capitol, show nuff… as the inclemency of the current administration appears to be immune to any antifreeze that might thaw their cold cash political calculations based on that single traditional precept it seems to respect…Caveat Emptor.
It’s Bit Coin in a New Jerusalem Big Con.
A politics of greed fueled by market-making mean-spiritedness and the bespoke narcissism of ready-to-wear grievance. The prêt-à-porter politics of the emperor’s new clothes.
And with that dark night of the soul whiteout of word-slinging, (and run on sentences) I’m off to beat sheet an entertainment.
Yes, I have a damn WIP. And I’m a weak week smoke free. And SNZ’s at pottery, and when she left this morning I reminded her to make me an ashtray. And that Coda canine is chillin’ at his sneak joint, (doggie day care) and for the first time in a year or so, I gonna go all Winston Churchill and pour a bit of whiskey in my morning coffee.