Anchor Struck

So it’s down the stretch for the election and I’m avoiding the last minute mania as best I can. Jude and I are watching a lot of reruns of Star Trek: Next Generation, which holds up surprisingly well. Sports wise, my baseball cap is off to the Dodgers, and I say that begrudgingly as a lifelong Giants fan. Their conquest of the Yankees was a classic east coast/west coast clash, complete with Mookie Betts being mugged by a New York fan who ripped a flyball out of Mookie’s glove.

I pre-record just about everything we watch, so we can zap through the commercials and boring bits. It’s more a necessity than a pleasure right now. There’s no bottom that Trump won’t sink to. His ad reminding us that Hispanic men are murderers, rapists and/or terrorists is as odious as possible. MAGA porn. And Aging Orange has just suggested that he might put RFK, Jr. in charge of the national health system. That would be a satirist’s reverie.

We all know that the race is tight, but if one of the candidates busts it loose, I believe it would be Kamala. I’m still counting on the unpredicted surge of women voters that surprised pundits in 2022. Donny Jon is doing his best to offend as many minority groups as possible, and several media outlets have referred to the “Puerto Rico is garbage” riff at his “lovefest” as the October Surprise. With his trademark total cluelessness, he jumped into a garbage truck yesterday to meet the press.

Are you buckled up for Tuesday?