It's the climate, stupid!
I imagine myself wearing a pussyhat as I write this.
My favorite sign from the rallies yesterday is one that proclaimed, "Make America Think Again." There's a basic appeal there to the educator in me.
I honestly don't know what to think about the recent election. I was in the Cascade mountains during the last month of the campaign, far from any TV signal. Indeed, I was residing at remote field stations without access to television most of the time from mid-June through Christmas. It was heaven, other than for missing the World Series. I was able to keep up with internet news, maintaining subscriptions to the Washington Post and the New York Times. Those subscriptions didn't turn out to be all that helpful, although the coverage of game seven of the World Series was sufficient.
I re-entered mainstream urban life just as the president elect was announcing cabinet selections, appointing foxes to rule the roost in every chicken coop. Finding the news a bit too dreary, I decided not to renew the New York Times, subscribing instead to The New Yorker. I may not be getting better coverage, but the prose is superior. I'm thinking that I'll need elevated prose to make it through the Trump administration.
The Donald doesn't follow my blog unless he's doing so under a pseudonym. I'm cool with that, because I don't follow his Twitter stream, but I wish I had the opportunity to let him know that he's turned me into a one-issue voter, something I've resisted in the twelve presidential elections in which I've participated so far. From now on, I'm voting climate. Period. And after watching the TV coverage of all those inspiring women's marches, I've decided that climate is a woman's issue.
Let's make America think again, indeed.
I imagine myself wearing a pussyhat as I write this.
My favorite sign from the rallies yesterday is one that proclaimed, "Make America Think Again." There's a basic appeal there to the educator in me.
I honestly don't know what to think about the recent election. I was in the Cascade mountains during the last month of the campaign, far from any TV signal. Indeed, I was residing at remote field stations without access to television most of the time from mid-June through Christmas. It was heaven, other than for missing the World Series. I was able to keep up with internet news, maintaining subscriptions to the Washington Post and the New York Times. Those subscriptions didn't turn out to be all that helpful, although the coverage of game seven of the World Series was sufficient.
I re-entered mainstream urban life just as the president elect was announcing cabinet selections, appointing foxes to rule the roost in every chicken coop. Finding the news a bit too dreary, I decided not to renew the New York Times, subscribing instead to The New Yorker. I may not be getting better coverage, but the prose is superior. I'm thinking that I'll need elevated prose to make it through the Trump administration.
The Donald doesn't follow my blog unless he's doing so under a pseudonym. I'm cool with that, because I don't follow his Twitter stream, but I wish I had the opportunity to let him know that he's turned me into a one-issue voter, something I've resisted in the twelve presidential elections in which I've participated so far. From now on, I'm voting climate. Period. And after watching the TV coverage of all those inspiring women's marches, I've decided that climate is a woman's issue.
Let's make America think again, indeed.
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