Week 1

I wrote another political post today, and then I posted it on Medium. I'm not sure why, though, because I could have just as easily posted it here. Admittedly, Medium is nicer to look at. Not that Blogger is bad at all, but there's something nicer about Medium. The text is presented in a larger font on Medium which lends the words more gravity. If the America has taught us anything, it's that bigger is always better. Ouch, I just realized I have a pimple on my neck. I just misspelled neck as beck and it made me laugh. I imagined Glenn Beck as a short, pimpled appendage.

I'm tired and I need to rally. There's a show tonight that I bought tickets for weeks ago, that I no longer wish to attend. The thought of standing all night, inside a packed venue, surrounded by people drinking and smoking pot sounds pretty unenjoyable. Especially with this pimple on my neck. It's so big that people will be able to see it in the dark. Foolishly, I tried popping it. The head of it ruptured and shot off like a lit rocket, but the pustule remained largely intact under my skin. I continued to poke and prod and squeeze it but succeeded only in enlarging it. I'll tell people I had a pea surgically implanted into my neck. Then I'll tell them about the other one - my pee pea. This is where my mind is right now. I think I'll just paste the political post I'd written earlier to salvage any lingering shred of integrity:

Earlier I read news that Iran, in response to Trump’s latest executive order, has banned United States citizens from entering their country. Retaliatory xenophobia, or spiteful sanctions. You decide. Everything seems to be coming off the rails, faster and faster every day. The frenetic speed at which Trump is damaging this country (and the world) is astonishing and unprecedented. It’s been a week and he’s already gagged numerous federal agencies, defunded abortions on a global scale, gutted the State Department, forced sanctuary cities across the country to illegally jail and detain suspected illegals, threatened to dissolve trade agreements, revived a controversial and environmentally-unfriendly pipeline construction across native American land, set into motion law that bans individuals from many Islamic nations from entering the United States, started the repeal of universal healthcare, and promised to waste up to 20billion in taxpayer dollars by building a wall across the Mexican border. From the New York Times:

“No president in modern times, if ever, has started with such a flurry of initiatives on so many fronts in such short order.”

This is all truly frightening. In my lifetime I haven’t seen anything like it. The government seems to be imploding from within while we are helpless to watch. The president has issued several potential violations of the constitution via executive order. Is that an exaggeration? Maybe. Maybe. If they aren’t “technical” violations, they are the precursors to more egregious transgressions. What’s worse is that Congress has done nothing to stop him. And with a Republican majority, they won’t. Perhaps even more concerning is that government personnel and agents are carrying out his possibly unlawful and unconstitutional orders seemingly without hesitation. They aren’t stopping to question things. This should evoke chilling memories of World War II Germany. How must we look to the world right now? We appear to be embracing Islamophobia, misogyny, fear and hatred as new national values. Refugees are being prevented entry on the dubious grounds that they may be terrorists. This is modern McCarthyism, but on a massive scale.

One has to wonder what the Trump administration’s agenda is…because they haven’t actually told us. In fact, they’ve been openly hostile to the press when pressed for questions. Kellyanne Conway has repeatedly proven herself incapable of directly answering questions posed to her, and Sean Spicer, White House Press Secretary, has provided the American public with laughably dismissible “alt-facts” (or as I like to call them, lies). So, we are left only to evaluate their actions, which have been troubling at best, dictatorial at worst. What might the intentions be of a group seemingly disinterested in honesty or transparency, of a group that appears avaricious, unscrupulous and, above all else, deceptive?

We are in the midsts of a snowballing crisis, one with lasting and seriously deleterious consequences and aftereffects. A ban on Muslims does not make us safer. It does not stop or curtail terrorism. Instead it stokes the flames of one of the world’s greatest threats to safety and freedom. America has just made the planet a more dangerous place. We need to ask ourselves, “what type of administration targets the targeted?” Governmental agencies have been forced into compliance under duress. Organizations and scientists have been told to keep their mouths shut, while Steve Bannon, one of Trump’s counselors, has delivered the same message to the press. Everyone should be outraged and deeply aggrieved by this — threats against the press are threats against free speech.

We need to step up. We are moving away from standing for what’s right and, instead, just standing by, watching as injustice becomes routine. If we don’t act like basic human rights are worth protecting, that they’re worth fighting for, then we don’t deserve to have them.

Friday Free

Ahh, sweet merciful Friday. There's something selfishly satisfying about having an engagement-free Friday. Especially when it comes after a hard day's work. How delicious it feels to come home and collapse onto the couch, without a care in the world. The legs and feet sigh with relief as the cushion takes them. Millions of cells behind the skin and muscles there rejoice and throw a lively and intensely orgiastic celebration. It feels like millions of localized micro-orgasms soaking the tissues in warm love. There is nothing like it. Except for waking up in bed Saturday morning well-rested, on your own time, trapped under a bunch of cozy blankets, the pink-orange morning light just touching the tips of the windows as you stretch out and yawn deeply and admire how all the world is peaceful and untainted by the cold hand of duty or obligation. Nowhere is there a deeper feeling of contented emptiness. Sure, there is the post-coital serenity which we can all agree is equally pleasing, but we have to work for that emptying. To fall asleep requires one to do no work, only to have done work. And to wake eight hours later is a sort of magic Lazarus can admire. It is to break the spell of oblivion.

I should use this free time. There are two chores I've been putting off all week. The first is laundry, which I haven't the heart to do tonight. The second is more attainable. Before Burning Man I purchased a gigantic black gymnast's mat for Holly and I to sleep on. Needless to say, we did more than sleep on it, and it got ruined in the desert; by the ravages of sun and sand and sprays of semen and sweat. Now I must dispose of it. The problem is, the thing is huge, and heavy. My vision of its future is to leave it sitting perched against the wall of the closed bodega down the street, or propped up beside a garbage can somewhere within walking distance of my apartment. I'd like for a homeless person to take it and use it as a place to sleep, as I once did. It's clear that the mat misses the musky stink of humanity that only homelessness can provide. For me to accomplish this task I'd need to wait until about 10:00pm to sneak the mat out. There are several reasons for this:

1 - The bodega is still open and closes at 10:00
2 - I don't want to run the risk of my neighbors seeing me, because my intent will be obvious to them
3 - I don't want to be seen by anyone else carrying an oversize, dusty, semen-stained mat
4 - Blatant littering is best done in darkness

The prospect of doing this at 10pm is daunting, though. My body is exhausted from a week of abuse in the gym. This is what I imagine:

While hobbling conspicuously down my staircase with the mat, I run straight into my neighbors before even making it out the door of the building, smiling at them like a snake with an egg in its mouth as I turn sideways to let them pass. Can they smell the mat, I ask myself. I hear them speak in hushed voices about me as they climb the stairs to their door. Awkwardly, I grab for the door handle to let myself out, but the mat falls and loudly slams the door shut. Everyone in the building hears it. Once more I pull at the door - having set the mat aside - and I prop it open with my foot as I pick the mat up and place it in between the inner door and the outer door. While opening the outer door the mat slides off the wall and crashes the gate, closing it against my hand. I howl in pain and promptly release my fingers. Standing there, clutching my hand, covered in dust and dirt, the mat lying limply half on the floor and half against the door, I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. Briefly I consider tossing the mat onto the gutter in front of my building, but then I remember I've already been spotted by my neighbors. They're probably watching me from the window right now. I check my hand and, using the light from my cellphone, I notice I have a blood blister under my fingernail where it got pinched in the door. My hand is crushed and deformed looking. Picking up the mat again hurts my hand. It stings and aches dully. Angrily I lug the mat down the block, huffing and panting, trying to move quickly but my grip keeps weakening and I have to stop, put the mat down, reposition my grip, pick it up, and move again. I make slow progress this way. My back and shoulders and legs burn from the weight and the uncomfortable angle I'm holding it at. My hand is throbbing. I've still got two blocks until I'm at the bodega. A bunch of college kids, all dressed up and ready to hit up a local house party, spill out of a door up ahead and are walking towards me. I watch as fright turns to hesitation turns to condescension turns to pity. They believe me to be a homeless recluse, or a meth addict on a binge, stealing gym supplies from the nearby campus. One of them considers calling the police. I hadn't thought of the police. Fuck. What would I tell them I was doing if they saw me? Why would I be carrying an oversized gymnast's mat at 10pm. I don't look like a gymnast. Well, that's because they're all doping. THIS is what an olympian really looks like. Why is the mat so filthy? It's just chalk...and protein shakes. I'm bringing it home, I'd tell them. Yeah, that's right. But why are you walking in the opposite direction? Surely they'd have asked for my ID and realized my house was just up the block. Ah, my mistake officers. I'm going to my car. I've got a van, you see. They offer to help me load it, on account of how unwieldily the thing is. That's quite alright officers. They notice blood on my hand from when I'd caught it in the door. Now they insist on walking me to my car. We arrive and, to my surprise, my vehicle's been stolen. I guess I'll just have to bring my mat back home then. Can I file a police report with you gentlemen tomorrow morning about the missing car? I'm really very tired and it's late - I'll have all day to deal with this tomorrow, when I'm fresh. They clasp handcuffs on me and throw me in the back of a police car. I ride away looking at the mat leaning against the side of the closed bodega where they'd left it. 

That doesn't happen though. The cops don't come and I keep struggling down the street with the mat. Finally I arrive at a reasonable garbage can. As I bend down to leave it near the garbage can, I pull a muscle in my back. The pain shoots like lightning down my leg and up my spine and I can't immediately stand upright. After a few long minutes of using the garbage can as a brace, I decide to lay flat on my back, on top of the mat. Unable to get up, I spend the Friday free - from my apartment, my bed, blankets, warmth, sleep. 

And as I lie there I can't help but notice, I'm stranded in the most peculiar way. 

The stars look very different, today.

Gagging Order

I want to start writing more; on a daily basis. It's hard though, once you stop writing, to pick it up again. For some reason it isn't like riding a bike. You don't just get back on. It's as though my training wheels are terribly rusted and the bolt isn't fastened right, so that when I write, what comes out is wobbly and unsure and leaning sideways and always about to fall over. Each sentence seems a sudden swerve away from catastrophe. The brakes work well enough, though. Too well. Didn't I say this wasn't like riding a bike?

It's tempting to write about politics again. There is just so much there to talk about! Every day another story farts out into the world that leaves me dumbfounded and incredulous. Today it was Trump's executive order to force through the Dakota Access pipeline, despite the massive protests just months ago, and not 24 hours after a massive oil spill from a neighboring pipeline in Canada! He didn't stop there though. Ole Donnie seems to have made it his mission to erode access to healthcare and abortions for women on a global scale, and with verve. He expanded the reach of a gag order which denies American funding to any foreign nongovernmental health organization providing women with counseling or information about abortions. One is left to wonder if this might be a retaliatory response to the Women's March.

That's not the only gag order, though. His administration has also started serially gagging federal agencies. The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the Department of Agriculture (USDA) have been silenced, and oddly, so have the Twitter accounts for some of our National Parks - specifically those Tweeting about the chilling reality of climate change, or Trump's inaugural crowds. This level of forced compliance is startling.

Well, I just opened Twitter and was greeted by some breaking news: Trump Expected to Order Mexican Border Wall by Wednesday. Briefly skimming the article reveals that he also intends to target legal immigrants and Syrian refugees this week. Jesus. He's wasting no time. What kind of administration targets the targeted? These people are fleeing countries where they're being killed and persecuted. They're leaving their jobs, their families and friends, their homes. They're risking their lives to come to us, the most powerful nation in the world, seeking safety and shelter and we're being told to turn them away. Remember when America was seen as a sanctuary?

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

What's confounding is that this country is founded on immigration. We are a country of immigrants, with shared values, hopes, and dreams. Our diversity is what creates our unity. But perhaps no more. It seems we are being pitted against one another based on difference and meaningless distinctions. We are resorting to fear, suspicion, distrust. Callousness. Boogeymen are being installed in our minds in the hopes that we'll be complicit in closing our doors and walling up our hearts against kindness, that we'll become bad samaritans. The natural order of things is being turned on its head. Trump is literally gagging order. It's tied up in the back room of a Trump hotel somewhere with a ball-gag in its mouth, getting pissed on by a pair of Russian prostitutes.

Maybe I'm being alarmist. It's not really as bad as it seems. I mean, it's not like he's appointed a climate-denier to head the EPA...or issued a gag order to block the agency from communicating with the public or the press...or frozen their budget for grants and contracts...right?

...right?

The Con Way

It happened, and on the day after the presidential inauguration (perhaps because of, or in response to the inauguration): the largest protest in United States history. More than a million people participated in the Women's March. People weren't just gathering in towns and cities across America, they were gathering throughout the world; Switzerland, France, Ireland, Germany, Sweden, Mexico, England, Denmark, South Korea, Czech Republic, Greece, Iceland, Spain, Netherlands, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Israel, Japan, and even Antarctica. The attendance in our nation's capitol in Washington D.C. eclipsed that of the presidential ceremony the day before. Throngs of people took to the streets to stand up for women's rights, for equality, for love and fairness, respect and decency and, despite a global turnout, the protests were peaceable. There were no riots or deaths, just people coming together with a common goal and a shared sense of purpose. Hundreds of thousands of hearts beating as one. Through the jumbled voices and myriad chants a message did rise: we will not tolerate your oppression.

Women asserted themselves against the forces of oppression that actively seek to control their bodies, paychecks, and their choices. In the bleary-eyed dawn after a night of back-to-back-to-back inaugural balls, the newly elected President of the United States woke to a world that didn't want him. Confused, he picked up his phone and took to Twitter to express his exasperation. In one of his typical 140-character soliloquies, he contemplated how such a protest was possible, especially in the aftermath of a national election he had won. The 70-year-old president, perhaps showing early signs of dementia, had forgotten that he'd lost the popular vote in that election. The logical conclusion suggests that much - if not most - of the nation does not want him as their president. He then proceeded to Tweet lies about his television ratings to make himself feel better. 24-hours later, however, he did acquiesce, slightly, and granted that peaceful protests are the hallmark of democracy - even if he doesn't agree with them.

But then something strange happened. Something stranger than living in 2017, where Donald Trump, reality-TV star and real-estate mogul, had been elected as the leader of the free world. He became fixated on a petty triviality involving his own ego. The day after his inauguration, photographs began to surface, showing that Trump had clearly exaggerated the number of people in attendance at The National Mall. He said that the crowds stretched as far back as the Washington Monument, when clearly they hadn't. He said there were easily over a million people present, when clearly there weren't. Obviously frustrated by the circulation of these photos - and the knowledge that he'd failed to attract bigger crowds than president Obama - he had White House press secretary, Sean Spicer, come out and address the American people. Spicer claimed the media was attempting to make the president look bad by using misleading photographs to distort the truth about how many people were actually on The National Mall. The only person distorting the truth, however, was Spicer. Conveniently (and also conspicuously), he took no questions from the press after making these allegations...against the press. This punitive message alone is rather concerning, but it didn't stop there. Later, Counselor to the President, Kellyanne Conway, in an interview with NBC's Chuck Todd, delivered a threat to the press by saying, "if we're going to keep referring to our press secretary in those types of terms, we're going to have to rethink our relationship here." She also used the phrase "alternative facts" to describe Spicer's lies to the American public. Anyone paying attention should be deeply aggrieved by these occurrences. Here's why:

1 - The administration is lying to you (read that again, slower).
2 - They think you're easily fooled.
3 - Threats to the press are threats to free speech.
4 - The president's priorities seem dubious, at best.

Constitutional rights are being threatened by the current administration, not only for women and minorities, but for every American living in this country. It reads like hyperbole, but these are the precursors of treason. Their proliferation of lies serve only to throw more doubt, uncertainty, and misinformation into the political debate. The effect, at least ostensibly, is that people are divided, confused, and fighting amongst themselves. In an age where information flows fast and freely, drowning the population in a sea of facts - both true and untrue - effectively creates three groups of people; those with the right information, those with the wrong information, and those who don't know. We can imagine that the vast portion of people will fall into the third category: uncertainty. This group is rendered motionless via information paralyzation or generalized apathy. Confusion, helplessness and futility are the hallmarks of this type of existence. They will not take to the streets or have a firm opinion one way or another, making them the least threatening to the power structure - at least at first. Then, at one end of the spectrum, we have those with the wrong information, rivaled by those at the other end, with the right information. These two groups will war relentlessly with one another, each trying but failing to convert the other to their idea of "right." This battle not only keeps these groups distracted, but the deluge of sound-bytes, articles, and memes that are borne of their discourse trickle out through the tributaries of modern media drowning the middle group in still more information and rhetoric. The system reaches an easy equilibrium without demanding much effort from the power structure. What's worth mentioning here is that everyone, no matter what group they are actually in, believes they are in the group with the right information - even if they are in the third group. In the third group they are sure of their uncertainty, of the hopelessness of it all, how no one really knows what's going on or how to stop it. But it is this group that is the most important. Because if someone from one of the other two groups is able to reach this group and wake them up, they stand to convert untold numbers to their side. Instead of arguing and bickering with those who don't (and won't) revise their viewpoints, the only sensible alternative is to appeal to those who will. We need to talk to each other.

So, that's what must start happening now. The same way it's always happened: through conversation, the exchange of ideas. Respectful conversation is key here; conversation whose aim is to understand, not explain. We've developed a tendency in this country to need to be right, to avoid ideas that we don't agree with or conversations that are uncomfortable. It's no surprise that in places where a diverse set of ideas are exchanged on a daily basis (places like populous cities), ideas tend to bend in a progressive, compassionate arc. This is because these types of conversations depend on understanding of others' feelings and needs, and require a tolerance for views that may be different from our own. Here, ideas must be integrated and contextualized with a multitude of other ideas. This happens through conversation, because conversation facilitates understanding. I'd venture to say that hate groups like the KKK form more easily in homogenous areas where hateful ideas can go unchallenged. Often, the object of their hate is underrepresented in those areas, and consequently, the object becomes less human. It's easy to imagine an enemy you haven't met. Look at countries in the Middle-East where radical Islamic terrorism has taken hold. The only westerners these people have been exposed to are the soldiers killing them, or the warped portrayal of the West delivered by television and other arms of propaganda. They hate us and want to kill us for the same reason the KKK want to kill blacks in the South. We are not human to them. We are not real. And this is why we must be careful not to deny others their humanity. On inauguration day an alt-right activist was punched in the face by a protester who called him a Nazi. Because the event was filmed it quickly went viral on Twitter. Some defended the attack while others denounced it. This is very problematic. We must all recognize that violence does not belong in political discourse. It is, quite literally, an attack on free speech. To celebrate violence against those who hold opposing views is to sow the seeds of dehumanizing oppression and manacle the hands of our most vital constitutional freedom. We must remember this right belongs to all people, not just those we agree with. I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.

Our current president, however, would have us believe that the only solution is to keep these perceived enemies out, to put up walls and block immigration, to bomb the hell out of them. But how does this help anything? Fighting and violence beget more fighting and violence. How can we be understood by or understand that which we do not truly know? Above I made the argument that people on opposing sides of right and wrong should try to convert those in the middle, but there is an obvious problem with this. It promotes polarization while encouraging moralistic entreaties and sanctions. At the end of the day it doesn't stop people from fighting. Ultimately, longterm, we need to move away from right and wrong - the words are too loaded. They have proven too liable to change over time and circumstance:

Murder is wrong, but maybe not in the case of mercy killings...or capital punishment...or abortions...or war.

Love is right, unless you're gay...or you're loving your neighbor's 11-year-old daughter...or someone other than your wife.

So let's start practicing. Let's move away from judgements of right and wrong. The next time we find ourselves having a disagreement, or feel our cheeks reddening as our views or values are called into question, take the opportunity to stop and actually listen. Even if you feel attacked. Even if you don't want to. By listening to each other, we are sharing ideas and growing. An evolution is taking place. Another person's thoughts don't need to make us feel threatened. Competing opinions won't automatically erase or invalidate the opinions we hold. In fact, exposing ourselves to ideas may make us more well-rounded, more socially literate, more in touch with the feelings, ideas and needs of those around us. To grant someone our attention and allow them to feel heard is to give a beautiful gift. Hate speech and intolerance pose unique challenges to this process, because they seem to undermine the very notions of understanding and empathy. It is best to remember that understanding is not acceptance, and allowance is not agreement. For these types of conversations, when it is clear that understanding or empathy is not the speaker's intent, one must know when to walk away.

Turnip for What?

The mighty lady, scouring the fields for food

What is it about hunger that ravages the mind. So distracted do the hungry become that all the minor irritations of the world flock to them. When starved, a person becomes depraved, dangerous. Until, of course, the lack of nutrients render them malnourished and sick. A feeling of weakness overcomes the body as it realizes it's running on fumes. Lightheadedness and a conservation of energy become mainstays. There is something somewhat floaty about hunger, though. A lightness. It sometimes feels oddly intoxicating. Much like sleep depravation, there is a sweet spot.  Too much of either one and things become too hallucinatory.

Where am I on that scale right now? The acute shaky phase, perhaps. My lady is at the grocery store, scavenging for dinner. I've risen to my new rank of housewife. The lack of responsibility is thrilling! She's expecting me to put a baby in her, so I can become a stay-at-home dad. What she doesn't know is I've been microwaving my balls while she's at work; the baby batter is inert. I've got a good thing going here. Why allow a baby to ruin it? I get unlimited food and leisure and time to myself. And sex, don't forget the sex. Where the hell is she anyway? What if she never returns? Killed out in the wild by a declined credit card? Isn't modernity sweet? Imagine how it must have been thousands of years ago, waiting in the dark uncertainty, one among many in a starving village, hoping for someone - anyone - to return with the bounty of a successful hunt.

Now, all we have to do is grab the last turnip faster than old Beatrice and throw in the microwave, after my balls.

Burger Luther King Jr.

I just happened across a few disturbing articles that suggest a link between PPI's (proton pump inhibitors) and dementia, as well as osteoporosis. What's a PPI, you ask? PPI's are prescribed for people suffering from GERD, heartburn, or chronic acid-reflux. They work by shutting down the acid producing part of the cells in your stomach, thereby curbing symptoms of heartburn. Many of them are now available over the counter. They are the 3rd most commonly prescribed drug in the country. As someone who took them daily for 10 years, this is deeply unsettling to me. Had I known, or even suspected the possibility of consequences, I would have sought an alternative solution. Instead I'm left with a near-certain fate of brittle bones and a bad brain. I'm actively auditioning for the part of Scarecrow in J.J. Abram's remake of The Wizard of Oz. 

Perhaps this is why, as I've gotten older, it's harder for me to focus. Constantly I experience the feeling of mental lassitude, of walking in a fog, perpetual forgetfulness. This is exacerbated powerfully by heavy drinking or pot smoking. Often, while out on a night of drinking, there will come a point when, unbeknownst to me (or my compatriots), I'll have blacked out. It happens frequently, too frequently for it to be unconcerning. What's problematic about it is that despite being blacked out, I'm still completely, convincingly coherent. I don't fall over or make terrible decisions or humiliate myself or become uncharacteristically uproarious, I just stop encoding memories. One time I even drove my friends home from Sonoma - nearly an hour drive - not realizing I was unfit to. My error was only revealed to me the next day, when I asked them how we got home. Something is faulty, for sure. The osteoporosis part I'm less worried about - I get plenty of calcium. I'll just continue to be mindful of calcium supplementation. Maybe they make calcium suppositories.

Earlier I was editing photos I'd taken yesterday with Q. Many of them I'd deliberately exposed darker, to experiment with creating the appearance of a shot taken at night. Any scene that was shrouded in shadow was suitable, as long as the sun's spotlight fell in patches on a branch, or a flower, or the trunk of a tree. Some of the photos were strange, the trees taking on a human shape, seeming to, at times, signify worry. Which got me thinking: do trees fear the dark? Do they shrink away from it and huddle imperceptibly closer? Do their branches subtly tremble from the chill of the night air? The animals that scurry noisily over dead leaves in the dark, do the trees stand still with rigid fright at the sound? Humans have the luxury of being able to cower under the blanket safety of a canopy. Trees are left with no such shelter. Their nakedness is exposed to the watching moon. It shines its light down onto their leafy heads, along with the sun and stars and passing planes. A drifting balloon. A runaway kite. Soaring birds.

I wonder, has anyone been hit by a falling bird that died of natural causes mid-flight? Would it hurt? I guess that would depend on the size of the bird. Maybe the difference, to a tree, between day and night, is the blink of an eye. Or perhaps a season is more fitting. The tree blinks and its lashes fall to the ground around it. It opens its eyes again as its lashes bloom. Blink. Bloom. Repeat.

Today is technically the second day of Saturday because Martin Luther King Jr. Day is tomorrow. I should go out an do something. Can we just remove the Jr. from his name? It sounds silly to call such an American giant by a suffix that implies smallness, or a quality of being lesser. Who decided it was okay to lump him in with the likes of the Whopper Jr.?

Now I want Burger King.