On Friday, I drove to a nearby park to pick up my kid from a sports practice: "ultimate frisbee." I know, whatevs, but at least you have to run and it involves teamwork. It was hot, and practice was running long, so I leaned against a shade tree by the wading pool and watched from across the park. Since I had just finished pedaling my stationary bike in the basement, I was wearing sweat-stained gym clothes, and my hair, which hasn't been cut since February or March, was matted. After a few minutes, a city worker who had been employed on some task at the wading pool approached me and asked whether I was waiting for my kid to be done with practice. When I answered in the affirmative, she mumbled something about watching the kids from a distance having seemed to her "potentially creepy."
What the hell! I know I wasn't looking my best, but a pedophile? I have a history with this kind of thing, too.
Reading over what I wrote yesterday about Biden's campaign dilemma, I think I should have mentioned that an argument for the maximalist strategy is that it would be bad for the country if a "normal-sized" Democratic victory caused Republicans to conclude that all they need is a tweaked message and a candidate less enthralled with making an ass of himself on Twitter. Maybe 400 electoral votes for the other side, together with another rout in the congressional elections, could persuade them to contemplate the example of, say, Eisenhower. But maybe not. It isn't as if Trump is something wholly new, a reckless flyer that they can sell and forget after reallocating to blue chips. I think it's been a dozen years now since the revered John McCain selected a manifest half-wit, the half-term governor of Alaska, to be his running mate. So the clown show goes back at least that far.
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