First of all, if I hear anyone say anything even resembling, “can people please stop talking about the war for a second,” I will punch them in the nose, even across state lines.
Here’s what my last few months have been like. Even though I live in a two-floor walkup brownstone with nothing but poured concrete at my feet I’ve somehoiw been channeling the experience of a suburban dad each and every morning. Picture, if you will, a suburban dad stepping outside, fresh as a daisy, ready to fire some immigrants at his factory, and his first image of the day is a cache of steamy dog poop on his perfectly manicured lawn.
I have an almost identical experience every morning. However, in my case, instead of a lawn I’ve got sidewalk. And instead of poop I’ve got the front page of someone else’s NY Post sullying my step. Each day the Post telegraphs another dangerously unilateral, aggressively idiotic declaration made by our President or some other member of his cabinet – things like “We’ll fight two wars at once!” or “We’ll do this one alone!!” or “Play Ball – US Troops bored silly and tired of waiting for bloodshed.” And when I see it, I go into full suburban dad/ dog poop mode. My face steams red, I rub the color out of it with the palm of my hand, and I catch myself making statements like, “Oh, for the love of God!” “No, not again!” “Come on now!!!”
And then I step gingerly around the newspaper and slouch toward the office, dreaming of firing my gardener.
