As I write this, the temperature outside my study window is 11 degrees (Fahrenheit...that's minus 12 Celsius), and I am dreading the hike up to the bus stop and the wait - however brief it may (hopefully) be - for the bus. I haven't thawed out from yesterday's commute, for pete's sake. What this means for you, dear readers, is a short post so that I can spend more time rubbing my hands together to pre-warm them before heading out into the arctic blasts.
Today, I will just share with you a few things from my recent Daily Curmudgeon e-mails. They seem to be appropriate to the current political/economic/social mess:
"There is no expedient to which man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking."
- Sir Joshua Reynolds, 18th Century English writer, artist, philosopher, and scientist.
"Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedy."
- Ernest Benn, British publisher and political writer
And a short poem - The Wayfarer, by Stephen Crane:
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."
Doubtless there are. And you can count on Congress dutifully exploring every one until they've exhausted all the alternatives to doing the right thing.
Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.