Theory

RFK Jr. isn't the only one with theories.  I have some of my own.  I woke up this morning with a stuffy, runny nose.  How can it be?  I haven't been anywhere and have seen no one but my mother for the past 36 hours.  Not even the gym.  I did my exercise outside yesterday.  But. . . there was a space launch yesterday, and I've noticed an uptick in illnesses every time there is a launch.  Again. . . nobody tells us what kind of chemicals are in a space launch's exhaust.  Giant plumes and trails at which everybody marvels--full of what?  I didn't know it was going up.  I just saw it while driving.  Otherwise, I would have put some tinfoil in my hat.  

I have no other explanation.  

The Billionaire Boys Club members are taking their victory lap and doing their celebration dance.  I don't care, but I'm not obligated to keep quiet, so I wrote a group text last night after another of their IG or X nonsense posts.

"That’s good bullshit echo chamber Russian bot reporting 😂

You guys can do your victory dance when he puts in tariffs and gets rid of all the cheap labor.  Then White Boy Rodney can dig the ditches, roof the houses, and work in the animal slaughtering houses.  White Boy Rodney has been pissed he’s been cheated out of good employment 😂

That’s why he voted for Trump!

He’s just been waiting for an opportunity to get off the crack pipe!"

O.K.  I'd been drinking, I think.  But when I turned on the television later, this came right up.  

Holy shit, I thought. . . I might be right!  My lefty friends are worried about the Vance presidency, but I think that people are going to regret Trump before his four years are up.  Still. . . Trump's only a cheeseburger away from going to meet Elvis.  

I told you on Monday that I caught up with you all, that I am now on the new time.  And it is fucking me up.  This was at four o'clock. 

I don't start drinking at four.  I was ready for bed at seven.  This will be a no drink Wednesday, I think.  It is Wednesday, right?

The camera in the background is the medium format Fuji I bought some time ago but have not really used.  I forget why.  I have a big assed lens mounted on it that weighs pounds, and that is part of it.  It is not really a walk around camera.  It is but it isn't.  Its use should be more intentional.  I think I will intentionally use it today.  It would be great for portraits, but having no one to photograph. . . .  So maybe clusters of mushrooms--or are they toad stools?  I'm no mycologist, that's for sure.  But I bought a pack of very expensive mushrooms at Whole Foods yesterday.  They are a mix of different types, whole 'shrooms, very big and some very scary, twisted, odd looking things.  People go to the forest to find mushrooms for all sorts of purposes, to heal and to kill, but these, I hope, were grown in a "House of 'Shrooms."  I've read they are easy to grow.  Still, these big ugly fuckers kind of freak me out.  I think I'll put olive oil and Kosher salt on them and put them on a pan and broil them with garlic.  I'm betting that they will taste like butt, though.  Dirty.  But they are supposed to be really good for one, and I'm all about that, so. . . . 

I like that photo at the top of the page.  It may be my favorite of the shoot, though I haven't worked my way through the second half of the images yet.  I still struggle over using monochrome or color.  

I like them both.  In this case, though, I think the color might add something.  

And now I must get to work, so I'll leave you with a little smokey, bluesy, noir-ish jazz from a Manhattan basement club. . . but wait!  This is supposed to be a Dry Wednesday.  Oh, well. . . what the hell. . . .  There are worse things.  

Jazz trumpeter Lee Morgan was shot and killed by his common-law wife, Helen Moore, during a break between sets at Slugs' Saloon in New York City's East Village on February 19, 1972.

He was 33.