Mashed Potatoes & More

Interesting caption from nypost.com: “Gamblers have transformed Chinatown’s Columbus Park into an anything-goes, outdoor casino — where high rollers illegally bet big bucks on card games with pots reaching thousands of dollars and cops turn a blind eye.” As long as it’s peaceful, people should be allowed to throw money away or cash in.

I was pretty sure there would be unintended consequences to relaxed marijuana laws. Here’s the latest, headline from NYP: “Dazed and confused: San Diego ER seeing up to 37 marijuana cases a day — mostly psychosis.”

From NYP: “Record 856 migrants die at southern border in fiscal year 2022: CBP.” And here’s an excerpt from an article at newsmax.com by Eric Mack: “The total of the two record-setting years of illegal migration under the Biden administration is now 4.7 million.” Quick, get them early voting ballots.

Headline from foxnews.com: “NY judge halts mail-in ballot count, unloads on using ‘perpetual state of health emergency’ as excuse.” Mail-in voting, early voting is why I believe the red wave that has been predicted is wishful thinking. It makes fraud easier. Republicans will have to pull in 3–5% more at voting booths to cover it. Hope I’m wrong.

Geniuses strike again, FN headline: “German climate change activists splash mashed potatoes on Monet painting.” According to the accompanying article by Bradford Betz, it was under glass, so damage was minimal. Here is the impressionist work in question, Les Meules, photo from Google Images:

Last night I had a vivid dream for the first time in long while. I was playing golf with two male strangers. I hit a shot near the tree line to the left. Instead of playing the ball, my driver was on the ground and I contemplated how best to cast it onto the green. I hooked beneath it with a seven-iron and, of course, flubbed it as I occasionally did a chip. I was taking an inordinate amount of time. Later, one of my playing partners noticed writing on the back of my shirt. It read “17 Minutes,” as in the amount of time I’d taken to play the previous hole. People behind us were furious at the slow pace. At round’s end I noticed my driver was missing. I went into the manager’s office in the club house, self-conscious about having infuriated so many golfers. He didn’t look up. My driver was not in the rack of missing clubs. The end… I always use Freud’s theory of dreams being wish-fulfillment as a guide, although I realize there is no single barometer to the mystery of them. It doesn’t help here. I haven’t played golf in more than a decade and can’t say I miss it, as it is so time consuming. I would rather invest those hours in selling and promoting my books. As for the slow pace, that was rarely the case for me. I’m stumped.

Sprinkles forced me to set up shop at the nearby viaduct and, as usual, business there was abysmal, no sales, but it was still better than staying home all day.

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