I have had a sick feeling in my stomach every time Frederick and I have driven out to the surrounding countryside for walks, because of the teeming profusion of Trump signs. It was all very reminiscent of 2016, and, as it turns out, even worse. For the good of my sanity I haven't been reading or watching the news, or even listening to public radio (except the classical music channel, and even then I have to be careful because they have a morning news show and news bulletins on the hour most hours), and thus was able to avoid what happened in 2016, which was that I was kept awake the entire night sick with dread. (Although, as we shall see...) Instead, Jami and I (re-)watched The 39 Steps and marveled at the film-star magnetism of Robert Donat (and John Lurie and a young Peggy Ashcroft as the crofters) and retired to bed early. Somehow I had managed to get wind of a woman pollster who was predicting that Kamala would win Iowa (the woman was a local pollster), which would have been amazing, had it been remotely true, but nonetheless I refused to raise my hopes, rightly as it turned out. In fact, a couple of weeks ago I had decided that Trump was going to win and sort of plotted out a reaction to that with which I could be comfortable. Basically, except for the third of the country that would forgive him if he ate their babies in front of them (in fact, be honored, and offer him ketchup, the only condiment he likes), he's been elected because of dissatisfaction with high prices. I'll be interested to see how his only real agenda of massive tax cuts for the rich and (if he's really serious - I suspect him of not actually giving a shit about any policies except those involving nobbling the various investigations against him and pardoning himself) the tariffs that he patently does not understand will help with that. Whatever: those who voted for him can fry in oil for all I care. To quote the subReddit: Leopards will eat their faces very soon. Sadly they will also eat the faces of poor asylum-seekers who have already been through hell, but as the man said, the cruelty is the point.
Anyway, to add shit on top of shit, Frederick's sleeplessness, which we had dared hope fixed (despite it being a regular roughly-monthly cycle for years) recurred, after almost two months of reprieve, with a vengeance. Up and pacing his room at 3 AM. It's as if he was affected at the very moment Trump crossed the winning line. And his condition has only worsened since.
So, what to do, when you hate half of the people around you (more if one ever ventures outside of Flint)? Turn to books! I quit Twitter when Musk bought it and have not missed it one jot, so let's see how much more of the internet I can painlessly amputate. Currently immersed in Michael Palin's first volume of diaries ("1969-79 The Python Years" - fascinating not just for Python inside dirt (Idle and Cleese don't come off too well, and Chapman rather a sad case) but for memories of Britain in the 70s. Palin seems ridiculously prolific and how he remained slim and trim with his obvious relish for eating out and drinking well is a mystery. Ah, the days before everybody's gut biome was ruined, I suppose. It's actually a good perspective, as you see depressing Tory gains at the beginning and end of the 70s, bookending Wilson and Callahan, but no backsliding from the repeal of hanging that (I didn't realized) was still new at the end of the 60s.
Anyway, it'll be good for Philosophy. Students seem to be drawn to it. I'm reminded of the quote from one of Marge's sisters, explaining why she is so comfortably off - "I invested in mace before society crumbled" - substitute Philosophy for mace, as people do tend to get philosophical when the abyss yawns before them.
No photos (I'm not taking photos of any of those Fucking Trump/Vance signs) so I'll just add some of the newly-bulldozed old Farmer's Market building. Rather a nice venue that, in typical Flint fashion, was going to be taken over by some children's concern but they were scared off because a Marijuana dispensary had just bought the old bank branch right next door, so now it joins the long list of buildings that have vanished since we arrived in Flint. Seems to capture the current mood nicely.
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