Tomorrow is going to be worse -- or better, depending on how one feels about heavy snowfalls. So it looks like I'm here for the week -- a minor inconvenience. I'll call my apartment manager in Seattle this morning, and if he can empty my mailbox, I'll have no problems that money can't solve.
Snow muffles all sound, and this kind of silence is ideal for meditation and reflection, but other than my own concerns I've got very little to think about at the moment. The state of the (dis)-Union offers no cause for alarm. With the remains of a dying capitalistic economic system based on predatory exploitation and a collapsing empire contested this election year by Republican fascist reactionaries on the one hand and the corrupted "Me Too" party of Democrats ("I believe in 'free' enterprise too; "We're on board with a strong 'defense' too), there's not much for it but to say "Good-Bye to All That."
Over here on the Peninsula the future is to some extent already here, and it's cold, frequently difficult to negotiate, and vastly superior to the past, with its theme parks, its cholesterol-laden dreams of endless hot dogs, and its obscene, chest-thumping ideological posturing, all of which now take a back seat to fresh pears and parsnips in the root cellar.
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