Blocked

Flying to the nearest deli

There have been a lot of consecutive nights (and days) of posts.

This is number 609 since 12/30/18.

Most days I find a topic pretty easily and crank out a bunch of words.

Other times, I slam into a wall.

That's where I'm sitting tonight.

As I say, there are always topics. Having said that, the topics can't always be written about.

So here we are.

There are nights that I think of just posting a picture and saying, "Here ya go. G'night!"

But I never have. Not to say I won't.

Things have been even more serious than usual lately. We've had Kenosha and sports protests and the conventions*.

*I watched not one second of either convention and I do not remotely care. In fact, I'm proud that I didn't.

But, isn't it sad? I consider myself a very amateur student of presidential history. It's not that I really know my stuff but I like studying it.

I've watched most acceptance speeches, even stopping a marathon Atari-playing night to watch Reagan in '84.

Then I went back to Yars' Revenge.

This year I focused on sports and whatever else occupied my wee brain.

It is what it is, I suppose, and certainly fitting in this clustermess of a year of 2020.

And, yet, I saw someone write that we are 125 days from 2021. I thought to myself, who the hell cares?

As I've said basically every year for...eh...ver...what's going to magically change?

Is COVID going to disappear with a flip of the calendar? Will we all get the mystical vaccine? Will stadiums automatically fling their doors open? Will we burn the f****** masks?

Will high schools be able to play sports again or will the CIAC STILL be deciding?

Blast.

Dammit, we're getting dark. This is exactly why I didn't want to write much tonight.

I'd be better off just writing about the genesis of the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. Oh, wait. John Nash already did.

Thus the picture up top.

Fred and Barney.

Grunt. Grunt.

And Yabba Dabba Doo.