The Autoclast is not a car blog. It’s a portmanteau of “Autocrat” and “Iconoclast”; in a perfect world, a spiritual descendant of “The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table”.
I rarely do social media anymore; I won’t say what I do, but I will say the ones that come up most often, I no longer use. I feel they’re just garbage, nothing but ads and political spam, and on some platforms, quite a bit worse.
When I want to share something with friends and families, I use my website. Some things – most things – are public, but some are not.
When I think about the development of social media, I think of the development of media in the past, and how often it has been advertising-based. Newspapers, magazines, radio, television: Here is some entertainment, perhaps here is some news, and alongside all of the are some ads. These days, even if you pay for access to a streaming service, you’re still likely to get ads.
Traditionally, advertising was brokered by intermediaries. With social media, anyone can create an account and start spewing ads. They can join online forums and participate anonymously or via automated bots. The barrier to entry is so low, anyone can pump a message to thousands of people easily.
There’s a notion that lowering barriers to entry allows more voices, a positioning of democracy over gated access. However, the volume of messages, coupled with some people being clever with algorithmic manipulation, makes the experience worse. There are countless pages, sites, channels, and other means of distribution that no one can be equipped to understand deeply.
All of that is before we get into shortform swipable formats that have emerged lately.
Hence, my anti-social media. A website I control, which I can use to share with family and friends.
It starts with a QR code; when you travel to Japan, you register your trip and personal information online and receive a QR code that you can save, print, or screenshot for later. When you enter the country, you present that QR code along with your passport, and that’s it: you’re in.
There are additional rules for medications, and if you don’t have the QR code handy, you can fill out paperwork on the spot, but it takes time.
David and I returned from Japan less than a week ago, and since then I’ve traveled quite a bit for work; I won’t be home until the end of March. A week ago as I write this…adjusting for time zones…we were asleep in Tokyo and preparing for our penultimate day (well, pre-penultimate day, but we’ll get to that).
This was my second trip to Japan and David’s first; it was more complicated than my last trip, and we had the kinds of complications that arise from complicated trips: weather delays, missed buses, multiple transfers by train, and a touch of illness on both our parts. However, it was a good trip, one that took me to places in Japan I’d wanted to see, gave David a chance to ski in Japan, and served as a bit of a romantic getaway, long overdue.
It will take me a while to go through the photos, and write the pages, and organize my thoughts. Even now my head swims at the breadth of our trip: a week in the northern island of Hokkaido seems like a different trip than our time in Miyajima, Kyoto, and Tokyo.
We traveled a lot in-country. We took trains, planes, and buses between cities; I rented a car in Hokkaido; there was a short ferry ride to Miyajima. We took the Shinkansen (bullet train) a couple of times. We ascended and descended mountains via ropeway (cable cars). We covered a lot of ground on foot.
After a week in Hokkaido, split between a few days in Sapporo and a few more in Furano, we flew south to Hiroshima and stayed on the small island of Miyajima. We had an afternoon in Hiroshima and then stayed in Kyoto for a few days with day trips to Kobe, Osaka, and Amanohashidate. We ended with a couple of days in Tokyo.
Of course we met up with Tamu: Taichi Tamura, our guitarist family friend who performed in Osaka.
Our flight back was delayed by bad weather in New York, forcing us to stay one more night in Tokyo near the airport. This put is a day behind returning to work, but ultimately worked out: we arrived at JFK Tuesday morning.
More to come, but I have the “Founding Fathers” up now. I’ve also linked some from the Reconstruction era.
I call these, ” Presidential Book Reports“. I read one or two biographies of a US President, maybe some supplemental reading, and write about them. It’s a fascinating way to learn more about American history.
I remodeled my kitchen this past summer. First answer: no I did not do it myself, I hired a contractor. Second answer, it took about four months, which was about six to eight weeks longer than expected. Final answer? Yes, I am very happy with the results.
My apartment kitchen is essentially a six-foot hallway with nooks on each side. Along the north edge is space for a small cooking range, sink, and cabinets; along the south, an angled wall and then space for a refrigerator and shelving.
I’ve lived here for over ten years, longing to replace the cabinets and make other improvements. When I moved in, I replaced the fridge and range, and added an adjustable baker’s shelf, but that was about it. The cabinets were OK, but I suffered a loose hinge and an even looser handle that would fall off without warning.
Here’s what the south edge looked like before the remodel:
The Old Setup (South Wall).
I don’t have good pictures of the old north wall, but basically: a smaller sink, and the cabinets stopped short of the ceiling about a foot. I also did not have a wall-mounted microwave, and I had no dishwasher.
Notice how in the picture above, the butcher-block shelf does not extend out as far as the fridge.
My goals in this remodel were to 1) get more counter space, 2) get better lighting, and 3) refresh the cabinets.
Mission Accomplished.
The new kitchen (view from SE)
First of all, from a similar angle: the new south countertop extends fully, givign me almost +3sf of counter space. Also, by adding the dishwasher, I no longer need to keep a dish rack in the space right of the sink – just a little flat towel for the occasional hand-wash item. Additionally, there was tile under the north edge, and old tile for the backsplash.
The new sink is wider by about 4 ” and quite a but deeper, and undermount. The countertops are quartz. In a perfect world I would have had more of an ebony black, but the mottling is nice, and altogether it breaks up what would otherwise be an all-white space.
The cabinets have an acrylic cover – the best way to get the modern slab look I wanted. Originally I wanted color cabinets and white tops, but reversing that scheme was an acceptable compromise.
I spent a ridiculous amount of time choosing a sink faucet. The array of choices are dazzling, and the range in costs quite wide, and I know nothing about design. In the end I went for something less baroque and more modern, and I’m happy with it.
We did have to angle the handle out though – if parallel with the wall, the “on” for cold could not extend fully back. I say it gives the sink character.
The cabinets now extend to the top, offering better storage for rarely used items. I also took the opportunity to relocate where things are kept – the baking dishes are now lower, in the bottom drawer of the south cabinet, and decorative/seasonal things are up high. The bread machine lives in the cabinet above the microwave.
Speaking of which: originally I just wanted a range fan. My old microwave, probably 15+ years old, was fine, but when I learned of combination range fans/microwaves, and searched for the most narrow one I could find, I settled on a Haier. It’s a GE brand I was able to get a discount on through work. It has fancy options I’ve only begun to explore.
New South Wall.
I now have some cheap shelves to make up what the baker’s shelf provides, and these industrial Wall Control brand panels provide great customizable pegboard storage. Originally I was going to have 4×4, but with the outlets I split them, as you’ll see.
With that increased counterspace, I have room both for the toaster and cooking utensil bins, as well as room to prepare food.
New Pot Rack.
The other Wall Control unit ended up becoming a pot rack in the little nook between the fridge and the angled wall. I also bought a lid holder. The pot fleet will clear up when some new cookware arrives is cleared up (it’s arrived!) but even at this level it is manageable, including the electric hand mixer.
New Cabinets.
Here’s the north edge, with the sink and counter in action. I have a roomy place now for both the food processor, which has hardly been used, and the coffee grinder, which has seen considerable user. Both are Cuisinarts, as is the toaster.
The under cabinet lighting has been desired for years, and its lack was a regular complaint by Mister Autoclast. The only downside to the work is that with a deeper sink, the sliding rack for trash and recycling would no longer fit, so I have to pull those cans out more manually.
In addition to the kitchen, I also had the window frame and radiator cover redone. My original idea was just to paint the radiator cover – the radiator lives in the wall – but my contractor suggested building out a wooden frame with shelves.
This picture is from before I put things away.
The new window sill and heater cover.
I also had Elfa closet organizers installed. I have to mention that I had a very good customer experience with Elfa. Basically the hall closet is slightly narrower that the bedroom closet, and the organizer I wanted for the former was too wide by about two inches. I called to ask about adding on items to the next smaller kit-size, and the rep said they could just trim the kit I wanted at the factory, at no extra cost. So yeah, if you’re looking for custom cabinet organizing, you could do worse.
Closet Organizers.
This brings me to the only negative I had in the whole experience. Up until this time I was able to sleep in my apartment if I needed to, to do something in the city early the next day, for example. Even with no stove or sink, I could crash out even while I lived most of the time at David’s. To get the organizers installed, however, I had to dump everything out of the closets, to the only place left: my bed.
I thought they would get installed in a few days, and I could load everything back. Somehow, all work seemed to have stopped, so it was a month before I was motivated enough to say something firm enough to get the work done.
By that point, we were approaching Labor Day, and David and I were going on vacation. The very morning of vacation, I drove in early to go over some final details, and a week later, upon our return, almost everything was done. We just needed to add a couple of shelves and the pot lid holder.
Speaking of which, as I write this, my new cookware has arrived. I can’t wait to inaugurate it. The kitchen has worked well so far; in a way using proper pots and pans will make it feel official.
What to do, what to do? In times of Covid, travel restrictions and our own uneasiness have made David and I less willing to travel. Normally we might go to Europe, or try some other far-away place, but the state of the world being as it is, in late summer we opted to drive to Maine.
Last October, I went to the Mount Desert Island area for the first time, to take a four-day kayak instruction course. The course was great, but also the venue was eye opening. While I’ve been to Maine regularly over the past several years, it’s always to the same coastal area nestled between the Kennebec and Sheepscot rivers.
In particular, the area has some great kayaking, and we organized our trip around two days of “rough water”. I put that in quotes because the ocean was, in fact, quite tame while we were there, but we did get some good experience on a reversing falls known as Sullivan Falls.
I’ll write about that separately. Here is what to know about our travel on the way up.
We got off to a later start than we would have liked; partly this was because I had to run into Manhattan early to meet a contractor, to get the final stages of my apartment done. Then I raced back to the house to find that things still needed to be packed and boats placed on the car (the Prius, or as I call it the Prubaru, the Prius we treat like a Subaru).
We were on the road by . . .11 AM? We had already changed plans to meet a friend of David’s near Boston and possibly overnight, but that friend was busy with packing and preparing for his own vacation, so we wouldn’t come in until the evening. Boston is only a four hour drive, typically, so what might we find to kill some time along the way?
That’s right, the submarine museum in Groton, Connecticut. I’ve driven past signs for it so many times, and David and I are both technically-minded people familiar with various submarine lore. The Nautilus is parked there for touring; the world’s first nuclear submarine, named for Jules Verne’s famous vessel captained by Nemo.
We’d get there just in time to catch the last hours of the museum.
Entrance.The Turtle.On the Nautilus.Model Sub.
One thing to keep in mind is that this is a military museum. On the one hand, the military has funded a lot of submarine research; the dive tables most scuba divers use today were worked out by Navy researchers. Many of the most dramatic, and also tragic, stories of submariners are of military vessels. Even the ship commonly credited as the first American submarine, the Turtle, was essentially a foot-pedaled barrel intended to attach an explosive to British warships during the American Revolution.
Polaris, Disassmbled.
On the other hand, after a while, it was clear that a significant portion of the museum was devoted to the Silent Service, submarines deployed during World War Two. In the back of one wing are the stages of a Polaris missile, the first submarine-launched ballistic missile developed by the United States. A small hall of heroes details stories of bravery by submariners in the service, and the final wing glides through various develops during the Cold War.
The one cool thing we found was that in a hands-on area apparently intended for children, the periscopes were real, and we could look out on the parking lot – to check on our kayaks, of course! We could even point the periscopes at each other, and wiggle for a friendly little wave.
Periscope.I Spy.
The Nautilus, of course, was the centerpiece, and the first thing we visited. If you’ve toured other decommissioned ships, the experience is much the same: the halls have been widened for better touring, dioramas with near-lifesize mannequins have been set in a scene, and much of the old machinery and electronics are still in place, with placards describing their history and purpose.
The SSN Nautilus.Mechanicals.Officers’ Mess.Officer Quarters.Enlisted Bunks.Makeshift Chapel.Repairing Gear.Helm.
The ship is quite a throwback for our era of location services in our phones and easy communications of all means. How would a submarine know it was at the North Pole? How would a message be sent from the depths of the sea? Just how tight was the bunking? Pretty, tight, it turns out.
We stopped in Mystic afterwards, studiously avoiding the famous Mystic Pizza in favor of a themed pub. Thence, we continued our drive to Woburn, MA, to meet the friend, have a chat, and sleep.
The next morning we lingered over coffee and admired the backyard from a raised porch; the yard slopes steeply away, and an impressive bird feeder dangles high from a tree, at a far enough distance that the birds could eat peacefully while we watched them.
We set out to complete our journey to Maine the next day. After following the interstate up to Bath, we took the scenic route, the old Route 1, more or less as we normally might for our usual destination, but continuing past that through a string of coastal towns. We stopped for a recommended hike along the way, at Mount Magunticook.
Peeping.Hedgehog.View of the Valley.View of the Sea.The Summit.David at the Summit.The Summit of Magunticook.
It was a very pleasant hike. After that, we drove on in to Ellesworth, checking into our hotel with no direct interaction with a human being: the guest policy and lock code for our room was texted to us, we parked and unloaded, and then had dinner. The room would be our home for the next few days.
There’s a young woman at the Korean bodega in my nabe, who is very friendly and helpful. The bodega is owned by Koreans, first one family who appears to have sold out and retired, and for the past two years or so, a new family of husband and wife, teenage daughter, and grandmother. The young woman was clearly not family, so it wasn’t clear how she fit in.
In November, I learned she is Burmese, aka from Myanmar, as that country held elections. She was happy for democracy, in a way that most Americans could take for granted while at the same time being concerned, with our own Presidential election just weeks away at that point in time. Myanmar is a troubling country, having been a military dictatorship for about half a century until 2011.
At that point, a new constitutional government was created, but one that retained power for the military and limited political opposition. It was not until 2015 that open elections were held, and in the November 2020 election the main opposition party took the majority.
The tanks rolled in the beginning of February.
Very often, when viewing news of political uprisings far from America, the distance is emotional as well as geographic. This is especially true when the country is not one the United States has strong ties to, or that an individual might not have ties to.
As an adolescent living in the American military community when the Berlin Wall fell, I felt close to the demands for freedom in former Soviet-dominated countries. Even before then, the Chinese crackdown at Tianimen Square held my interest. The struggle is real, as they say. I am not one to look at uprisings and shrug them off as just another poor country that can’t govern itself.
Yet, here is this young woman who, if you ask, will share her concerns. Does she have family there? Yes. Are they safe? There’s really no sense of “safe” there at the moment.
It’s easy to criticize a military coup superseding a lawful election in another country, yet events in America paint a picture not entirely dissimilar. The differences are, we don’t have a history of long-term military rule, and the military did not partake in the insurrection. However, the claims of a rigged election, and a losing side that contemplated every option to stay in power, are exactly on point.
I can’t go to the store now without thinking of this woman in my neighborhood, and whether I will see her, and if so, inquire about her family’s safety. To see news of Myanmar makes me think of people hiding in their homes, unable or afraid to use the internet, to communicate, to share what is happening.
We are after all only six degrees apart from anyone else in the world. Sometimes, not even that many.
Coffee should be worshipped like a god or, perhaps more apt, a benign spirit. It brings conscientiousness, awareness; it enhances thinking. We are but simple clay until the oil of the bean is imbibed, bestowing human awareness upon us.
“I am so tired!” Madame moaned as she set the fish on the table.
“Certainly not from baking the fish, Madame,” said the Musician. “It is so simple, no? Herbs, oil, bake?”
“I was chopping wood! Do you not notice the distinct lack of tree pressed up against the house?”
Tree Against House.
The storm had come through the day before, dropping immense amounts of rain, but also bringing high winds.
“I was in the office, working, as I often do,” said the Engineer. “I heard a loud whomp sound. I thought it was inside the house, but found nothing had fallen. I looked out the front door, and saw nothing had fallen. When I turned around, however, I saw a bunch of leaves pressed against the back windows of the house.”
“Oui, we were so lucky,” Madame continued. “The tree fell to the ground and only tickled the house. It could have been worse.”
Tree Closeup.Tree External.
“As it stands – or rather, no longer stands – the tree was actually two trunks, split near the base. The other trunk has fallen towards the neighbor’s yard, threatening their trampoline.”
Root of the Problem.
“An amusing image, that of a tree against a trampoline,” said the Musician.
“True and fair,” declared. “But it presented a challenging obligation, of how to safely re-safe-itize the area, by careful removal of the looming flora.”
“And yet still the tree!” Madame was exasperated as she sat down, and served cuts of salmon fillet, with roasted baby potatoes and sauteed cauliflower. “I am not qualified to climb such a tree, but I took clippers and an axe to the one in the yard.”
“Aye, she did,” nodded the Engineer.
From Behind the House.Progress!
“That would explain the pile of yard waste I saw this morning. Whatever happened to it? It was gone when I returned from music practice.”
Yard Waste.
“The children!” Madame exclaimed. “The family next door insisted on helping! They said the children loved to move branches. They were like the von Trapps of tree disposal. No more than seven years old, they dragged each branch to the curb.”
“We are still left with the remaining problem, that of the other trunk. I believe we will have to call a professional. Our man went to great lengths to determine whether he could dispose of it himself.”
Climbing the Good Tree.Higher.Higher and Higher.
“What’d I miss?” Jody Hipster entered, leash in hand, having taken Polo for a walk on the rail trail.
“Nothing we can’t leave behind,” said the Musician.
“We might branch off the conversation,” said the Engineer. “Did the dogs bark?”
“Why no,” said Jody. “Why would you ask?”
“It was sick. As I chopped through, in the middle was soft, dark wood, like mulch. It is no wonder the tree gave way.”
“Poor old tree,” said Jody.
Clovis circled the table, angling for fish, his tail arched like a shark swimming near the surface of the ocean.
“May I?” The Musician’s heart always melted first.
“He is transactional by nature, that one,” said the Engineer. “Don’t expect good behavior supplied on credit.”
“Someone else do the dishes tonight, please,” pleaded Madame. “I’m so tired!”
The numbers have come down, in the northeastern United States at least. Numbers are going up in the south, out west, in Texas. Coronavirus and COVID-19 aren’t going away anytime soon, but life in New York is almost normal again.
This was not the case three months ago. By mid-March, our local political leaders were starting to try to do something, anything, often contradicting each other and postponing vital decisions. We were told to stay home except for essential tasks, and in short order, various employers started work-from-home plans where possible.
I’m not going to look up the details of what decisions occurred when, or what the body count was week-on-week, day-on-day. I started keeping a diary, partly to keep myself sane. When every day is in the same 500 square-foot apartment, and more and more people are dying daily, it’s good to have a hobby.
In late March I seem to have been playing it by ear. Would I go out? Would I need to? What was my normal routine? Yet by early April I was writing “Stayed Inside” a lot.
COVID Journal 01
There were some challenges early on. David and I talked about whether to visit one another and we decided not to, partly because he’s old enough to be (in the knowledge of that time at least) in a vulnerable group, and I was safer staying at home while he was out in the open for work. I also started a new job and got to witness the company figuring out how to do all the normal hiring things, like paperwork and delivering a new laptop – when I couldn’t go in to the office.
On April 5 I took my car for a drive around Manhattan. I don’t believe cars should sit idle too long, and it had been a couple of weeks since I drove.
On April 11 my paddling club had a virtual meeting using Zoom. After that, David stopped by, and we went for a walk. We both wore masks, I wore gloves, and we met in the garage, where he dropped off his bike.
On April 20, he dropped off some toilet paper for me, having bought a large quantity, on his way to work. I didn’t leave the building; I met him at the entrance.
By late April, I’d adjusted to a new routine. I would stay inside for a week at a time, and save my outdoor requirements for a single day. There are a lot of “Stayed Inside the Apartment” entries.
COVID Journal 02
By mid-May, however, I was starting to venture outside more. On May 9 I drove to David’s and spent the better part of the weekend there. Later in the week, he had some downtime at work and was able to sneak in a dinner visit to my place.
By that point, the numbers were beginning to decline.
COVID Journal 03
In early May I went kayaking a couple of times. My club had worked out some rules for keeping the total number of people at the boathouse low, as well as cleaning equipment. All the same I was very paranoid. Once, I walked home in my drysuit, wearing nitrile gloves, even though it was nearly eighty degrees and sunny.
Besides paddling, I ventured out more and more in general. My neighbors had a get-together in the courtyard. I met up with a friend for a walk. I was more willing to go to the store.
I still stayed inside a lot.
COVID Journal 04
For the past six weeks, life has gotten progressively more “normal”, with frequent reminders of how not-normal things are. I’ve gone up to David’s house a few weekends, and in the suburbs, we can walk around in the yard without a mask. We went out for walks in parks, we even got to a point where, as you can see, I lost track of time – what did I do which day? Did I stay inside? Did I go to the store? The new normal set in. Whatever I did, it was “normal”.
I know I went to a suburban grocery store for the first time. Mask on, basket, sanitizer, do my shopping, stand in a well-spaced line after negotiating the one-way aisles. I’ve taken a first aid course in a state park – a small class, masks on, distancing as much as possible. I’ve developed a fatalistic streak even. I advocate masks and distancing and minimizing time away from home, but when things need to be done, they be done.
With takeout, and grocery orders, and occasional walks to get coffee or bodega runs . . . this is the new normal. We watch and wait to see if the numbers go up, or down, locally, nationally, globally. We silently judge people for wearing masks, or not wearing masks; for opening too soon or overreacting. That’s new normal too.
Wearing a mask is the simplest thing one can do. It’s a kindness to others; it protects oneself too.It’s frustrating, it’s silly, it muffles out voices, but makes a difference. Places where people wear masks have lowered their infection rates.
We can argue about whose fault it is, or how we should spend money to address the problem, but most importantly we have to address the problem. Official guidelines in the US are being treated as optional; speed limits where there is no enforcement. There is not enough testing, and therefore data, to make the kind of fine-tuned decisions that everyone wants. Too many politicians want to be the cool parent who lets their kids run free, only to find the have to be the responsible parent when they come back from spring break with a highly contagious respiratory illness.
The numbers are going up. Various states are rolling back their opening plans. I don’t plan to start another COVID journal. I hope I don’t have to. Nonetheless, July 4 or thereabouts marked a different sort of Independence Day.
Here is the current state of affairs, as we walk over Memorial Day weekend here in the United States, into the summer.
In New York State, the daily death rate due to Coronivirus is reported to have fallen below 100. While terrible, that is amazing compared to the peak near 800 just a few weeks ago.
The state has also announced criteria for regional emergence from “New York on Pause”, and some parts of the state are reopening for business. New York City, however, is at least a month away from being able to re-open. Also while the state is allowing beaches to open, the city is not.
Farther afield, various states have lifted various restrictions on activity, and everyone is eying the effects. Meanwhile, the cumulative death toll due to Coronavirus is approaching 100,000 for the nation.
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve experienced a change in general emotional state. It’s a strange thing to remember how one felt just a short while ago, in contrast to the present.
I remember the end of March and early April, a period I generally refer to as, “when the city was on fire”, when every day brought new developments, new highs in infection rates and body counts, along with grim anecdata like refrigerated trucks being used as makeshift morgues and a Navy ship being brought in as a hospital. Death was right outside my window, right outside my door. Death touched every doorknob, every handle, every package, the slightest piece of mail.
I washed every grocery, and would toss my keys into a sink filled with soapy water when returning from outside. If I drove my car, I kept my mask on in the car. I stayed inside my apartment for over a week at a time, FaceTiming with David, using Teams with my co-workers, and Zoom with my club. It was a state of terror I hadn’t felt since the days immediately after 9/11.
Now, however, I’ve grown more lax. More data leads to changes in behavior. Supposedly surfaces are a less potent vector than other peoples’ exhalations. I still stay in my apartment during the week but have ventured out on weekends, either to David’s house or to walk in the park with him, to go to the grocery store or, in a couple of cases, to go kayaking at my club’s boathouse.
Three weeks ago I still felt like an astronaut; nowadays, more like a warm-water scuba diver. Some assembly is still required, but less than before, and it’s more routine.
Talking with others, taking in the news and the comments and the opinions all around, there seems to be an overall feeling of having shifted into a new sense of what is normal; whereas in the beginning there was a bit of a lark, ha ha we’re going into quarantine, oh my working from home is a zany new concept, look at me I’m baking with all this time on my hands. Now, there is experience on the one hand and a track record on the other.
We’re all experienced with whatever changes in our lives we’ve had to make. The novel is no longer new; it’s routine. For myself, I was already working from home before the pandemic occurred, and the only real changes have been 1) not going out for a daily constitutional and 2) not kayaking nearly as much.
The track record of governments and employers has come under scrutiny, and while it’s easy to forgive mistakes at the beginning (even if it’s debatable “when” this all began), three months since documented arrival of the virus in the United States and its subsequent spread, there is plenty of blame to go around.
Were controls put in place for people returning from abroad? Were necessary medical supplies procured or ordered? Were restrictions enacted wisely, and were they too soon or too late? What about economic adjustments for the thousands of businesses and millions of workers thrown out of work?
Also, not to forget, this is an election year, and America is less than six months away from its quadrennial decision about who gets to lead the country.
Summer is here, and the weather is nice. The world we live in today is not the world we will live in tomorrow; it certainly is not the world we lived in very recently. Things are better, but not good; improved, but disaster looms right around the corner.
That is the state of affairs as we pass through this gateway to summer.
