Filler

“Who is more to be pitied, a writer bound and gagged by policemen or one living in perfect freedom who has nothing more to say?”

― Kurt Vonnegut

It's September 10, 2026, and here I am trying to fill this space with the 1,126th post since starting this project almost exactly six years ago.

Foggy outside, and so humid the interstice between our double-paned windows is glossed with condensation.

Never seen that happen before, at least not up here.

What to write about?

Like most mornings, I awakened and within a couple minutes opened the news app on my phone to see if Dear Leader had finally gone over the rainbow bridge. Nope. Instead, last night he offered $1 trillion bribe to the American people to keep the fascists in control of Congress, which feels like a desperate move of a tinpot dictator. As if he has the constitutional authority even to do this--then again, who's to stop him? Congress? The SCOTUS? I guess we'll get our handout from the emperor, if we deliver his desired election result.

The Phillies have pulled within three of the Braves, whose September swoon seems to have accelerated. It always seemed likely to me that Atlanta would fall out of first place here at the end--their schedule for the first three weeks of the month is pretty brutal, with opponents fighting for a place in the playoffs and a lot on the line. The Rays have so far beaten the Braves this week by a combined score of 14-3. At least the season ends with two weaklings, the Reds and the Marlins. Maybe we'll hold out until then.

Later today P and I drive to the City for the long weekend, this time sneaking Dean and Slane into the building because they seem a little freaked out that we've been gone so much lately. It's going to be a challenge sharing our 380 square feet or so with those two--I'm picturing at some point one of us stepping in the cat box when we get up to pee, and of course Slane's going to serenade us at 4 a.m., as is his wont.

Tomorrow is the 25th anniversary of 9/11, my generation's Pearl Harbor. Figuring lower Manhattan may be a little somber tomorrow morning. Peg was working at NYU Langone that day, and I sense very much doesn't want to be reminded of all that. We'll see how thing go tomorrow.

Time for me to run to Lowe's to pick up a couple things we need down there, then to Dick's Sporting Goods for some sort of Bills garment to wear on Sunday at Kelly's Pub, where we'll go to watch them open against the Texans. I have a mediation starting at ten, but one of the parties, a pro se fellow, is already threatening not to show up. We'll see how this goes.