Congratulations to working America

The skies have been mostly gray since the virus raised its head.  Here in the upper Midwest, we are used to this rhythm; we know something better is coming.  We stay home, and we work from home.

The phrase "the exception proves the rule" is generally misunderstood; it means the exception tests the rule.  "Prove" is meant in a mathematical sense.  At this mention of equation, the Iron Curtain in my brain descends, and my conscious self walks away from the matter.  It whistles some vague tune as it goes fishing for the afternoon.

In a perverse manner, I suspect that Americans are oddly enjoying this shut-in experience.  That old Yankee Doodle spirit emerges, and we thumb our noses at authority.  We show the ruddy bastids that we can stay in and work better than anyone in the world.

That's why, when allowed to, America always wins the war.

Work is what good Americans do; injecting a load is what bad Americans on the streets of San Francisco do.  Good Americans shop a little and errand a little, then go home and work a little more.  When engaged in conversation with a neighbor, we keep a warm but safe distance. 

Working Americans are warm and fairly safe; Trump's plan is working, too.

Journalists don't fight battles; they just look askance from afar.  And the journalists know that if they say, "Jump, Skippy!," Skippy will jump.  Skippy has been trained to jump.  Journalists never get any real work done anyway; they just quote one another from last night's Washington cocktail party and then fill up space with more quotes from a Twitter page followed by a screen grab of that same Twitter page.  Cut-and-paste journalism with a side of stale hot sauce.  It all winds up looking and reading like a second-semester kindergarten project with ads.

Politicians don't fight battles anymore; in fact, a case could be made that the Founders were a once-in-a-millennium blind lucky shot, and we will never see their likes again.  In today's politics, short-order cooks abound.  Skillful thinkers never consider running for prom king of the Ninth District because their self-confidence doesn't need to compensate for less than average mental acuity paired with extravagant self-esteem.

Just listen to Bernie Sanders for the quarter-minute you can stand to.  That is not an intellect based upon kennen and wissen; rather, it is a philosophy conceived under a dirty blanket in the rain and muck of a Woodstock hash high.

But working Americans will work around it all.  We've seen bleak midwinters before, and we know that the summer sun will peek through and soon dominate.

Congratulations to working America.  You are the only estate "proving" worth a damn in this moment of difficulty. 

The first, second, and fourth estates are just not up to the job.

The skies have been mostly gray since the virus raised its head.  Here in the upper Midwest, we are used to this rhythm; we know something better is coming.  We stay home, and we work from home.

The phrase "the exception proves the rule" is generally misunderstood; it means the exception tests the rule.  "Prove" is meant in a mathematical sense.  At this mention of equation, the Iron Curtain in my brain descends, and my conscious self walks away from the matter.  It whistles some vague tune as it goes fishing for the afternoon.

In a perverse manner, I suspect that Americans are oddly enjoying this shut-in experience.  That old Yankee Doodle spirit emerges, and we thumb our noses at authority.  We show the ruddy bastids that we can stay in and work better than anyone in the world.

That's why, when allowed to, America always wins the war.

Work is what good Americans do; injecting a load is what bad Americans on the streets of San Francisco do.  Good Americans shop a little and errand a little, then go home and work a little more.  When engaged in conversation with a neighbor, we keep a warm but safe distance. 

Working Americans are warm and fairly safe; Trump's plan is working, too.

Journalists don't fight battles; they just look askance from afar.  And the journalists know that if they say, "Jump, Skippy!," Skippy will jump.  Skippy has been trained to jump.  Journalists never get any real work done anyway; they just quote one another from last night's Washington cocktail party and then fill up space with more quotes from a Twitter page followed by a screen grab of that same Twitter page.  Cut-and-paste journalism with a side of stale hot sauce.  It all winds up looking and reading like a second-semester kindergarten project with ads.

Politicians don't fight battles anymore; in fact, a case could be made that the Founders were a once-in-a-millennium blind lucky shot, and we will never see their likes again.  In today's politics, short-order cooks abound.  Skillful thinkers never consider running for prom king of the Ninth District because their self-confidence doesn't need to compensate for less than average mental acuity paired with extravagant self-esteem.

Just listen to Bernie Sanders for the quarter-minute you can stand to.  That is not an intellect based upon kennen and wissen; rather, it is a philosophy conceived under a dirty blanket in the rain and muck of a Woodstock hash high.

But working Americans will work around it all.  We've seen bleak midwinters before, and we know that the summer sun will peek through and soon dominate.

Congratulations to working America.  You are the only estate "proving" worth a damn in this moment of difficulty. 

The first, second, and fourth estates are just not up to the job.