Like you, I’m really curious about what happens with Whitehouse furniture and accessories when there is a change in presidents. Not counting my chickens before they hatch, heh heh, but someone better be thinking about this. I don’t want the transfer of power to be held up thanks to a lack of foresight on packing up the former – ack!, excuse me, current – “President.”
"Sorry, the family isn't fully packed up yet."
Too effing bad. You're out.
Also, what’s swapped out and what isn’t? I imagine Joe and Jill Biden would be expected to eat off the same plates, insert the same forks into their mouths, and nestle their buttocks into the same dining room upholstery imprints that Donald and Melania Trump have been avialing themselves of until the day of the inauguration. I mean, we’re not getting new furniture every time there is a change of presidents, are we?
On the other hand, there's bound to be leftover coronavirus-goo on the dining room chairs. If I were offered a free weekend vacation in the Whitehouse just after the Trumps departed, to be honest I’d pass. Sorry, but not worth it!
If there is a change in presidents (please, please) I’d recommend that the Bidens discard the linens. That’s just me from my little perch here in the layperson peanut gallery. I certainly don’t speak for Anthony Fauci, but I’ll bet “The Fouch” would endorse that plan, plus recommend a week or so of time between first families in order to properly fumigate the place. If every surface has to be wiped down, every sheet and towel disinfected, and every mattress inspected for party stains, it’s going to take time.
What about the toilet paper? Is Jill Biden supposed to draw off the same roll of TP that Donald Trump was using earlier that same day? Did anyone bother to take off the last few sheets and create a triangular fold, like they do in the very high-class establishments I routinely stay in?
And what about the second wave of toilet paper deficit? And the “Toilet Paper War”? Yeah, sounds comical, but there are a lot of guns out there, and I expect a war over toilet paper if this pandemic gets much worse.
Lots to consider.
In my many years of predicting the future, I have never been so wrong as I have about the period in which we currently live. I thought I had it nailed!
That we’re not flying personal blimps to and from work by now I find very odd. I had long thought personal blimps were the transportation of the future, but other (lesser) futurists have thrown cold water on my ideas by claiming that once a lot of people start flying personal blimps to work, well, you’d start to need blimp traffic signals. Which implied blimp accidents, and blimp rollovers, and blimp traffic jams. Which implied not much better than what we currently have. I was sure we were on the precipice of a great blimp movement, but people got so freaked out by this misinformation campaign that no one would get behind the blimp idea, and it petered out.
Alas! And now it turns out there isn’t even much road traffic. Do you realize that I drove from West Roxbury to Cambridge and never once touched my brakes? Slight exaggeration: there were some geese that wouldn’t get out of the way, but after that it was just give it gas and turn the wheel.
My personal opinion, It’s important to get into your car now, while gas prices are low and you are actually allowed to go to the ski slopes.
Wait a minute: can we still ski?
I’m not much of a folk singer, but if I were one I’d be writing folk songs like “Blowin’ a Whistle.” My songs of rebellion would be aimed squarely at “The Man”. Troubadours would be singing my songs in subway stations, with their guitar cases laid open and piles of CDs put out for people to buy, filled with folk numbers by Seeger, Guthrie, Dylan, and me.
Wake Up, For Cryin’ Out Loud! would be my first, breakout album. Songs like “You Can’t Possibly be Serious,” and “It’s no Longer Funny, People”, would start to appear on critics’ lists of top hits, and everyone would marvel at my ability to be both humble and kind, and yet have an attitude. Sounds impossible, but the magic of my folk song art is my humility/attitude continuum. My song “Ramblin’ Tweet” would crack the top ten, and “If I had a handgun (I’d shoot it in the morning)” would get to number three.
Of course, half the country will hate my records, either because they dislike hearing whistles blown, or because they happen to be “The Man,” or because they think handguns are for wimps.
What songs would you sing if you were a folk song artist?
The number of blog posts I should have but didn’t enter in the past month is astonishing. Did you know that I saw Titus Andronicus in Chicago? And no, I don’t mean the Shakespeare play.
I’ll save that for a different date, as I have photos to share.
What about the “caravan” of Latin-American “invaders” (i.e. poor people)? What about the latest mass murder via military-style weaponry, this one involving a deranged anti-Semitic psychopath? And, oh yeah, what’s the status of my home addition?
Sorry, not blogging about that today. Instead, today is all about the Boston Red Sox, who took the World Series again, beating first the hated Yankees (the only playoff series I really cared about), then the “best team in baseball” – the Astros, then dear old Dad’s Dodgers.
I blame my lack of posts on the late nights watching 18 inning games and enduring Craig Kimbrell’s myocardial infarction-inducing ninth-inning “relief” pitching as he tried and mostly succeeded in saving games. But not before making me dread the appearance of his Whoville beard.
The good news is that baseball is now over. Ergo, I get my life back.
A friendly heads-up.
J'Biden Era Haikuage
People's Arms. That's right!
200 million shots
In 100 days
We are good people
But we still have far to go
Repair. Restore. Heal.
There's nothing new here
The Affordable Care Act
We're restoring it
Democracy is fragile
The world is watching
Strategy is based
On Science, not politics
Truth, not denial
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