The only thing I can conclude is that reading the news, even just logging on to my computer each morning, is a one-way ticket to Hell. I tell myself this again and again, yet I continue to do it. One reason is that I have so few local friends -- one plus my son -- that I communicate with friends living far away via email and Facebook to avoid being a total recluse.
But maybe being a recluse is the way to go. After all, Sen. John Fetterman, a stroke victim and obvious whacko in addition to any medical condition he may have, was elected by Pennsylvania's voters to represent them instead of the sane, educated, distinguished heart surgeon running against him. Not only has Fetterman seemingly won the respect of his constituents, but now all of Congress has bowed down to his wishes for a relaxed dress code in the Senate. Do I really want to be part of that human race?
I mean this literally and with all my heart: If both my parents, long gone, were to come back from the Great Beyond -- like Emily did for one day in Thornton Wilder's "Our Town" -- and saw the state of our union today, they would immediately drop dead. My mother would drop first and hardest since she toiled in grass-roots politics for many years, finding it the only valuable and serious use of her time and deep intellect. Today, being involved in politics is less intellectual than flipping burgers at a fast-food joint.
When exactly is that giant meteor we've been warned about ever going to get here? It's way overdue.
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