Brio tracks, Magna-Tiles & last night’s dried spaghetti crunch underfoot — not just the morning after, but a seemingly permanent state of being.

… Oh, and tortilla chips too.

I was going to say this shit is killing me, but that’s not a great idiom when it is literally killing other people.

• “She is not the same little girl I used to play with…"
• “America is inherently violent”
• “You done shot the lady!” … “You shouldn’t have messed with my momma!”

Apple is more and more deserving of a critical look at their business, but there never fails to be a WWDC where I am not tempted to install the betas.

Glad to have what can be a test machine alongside the work machine, and I think I’ll wait for the public betas this year.

I thoroughly appreciate old time radio podcasts (and their progenetors — old time radio broadcasts, like WAMU’s “The Big Broadcast”). Today I am enjoying Duane Old Time Radio’s “The Complete Orson Welles” and the latest posting of an Adventures of Harry Lime, “Too Many Crooks.”

I am beginning to remember life in DC that wasn’t about the pandemic or about work. Getting outside helps—always has. Keep moving. Sleep hard.

Trying not to fall into the trap of too much woe-is-me drama and our COVID-isolating household. But I do wish the not-yet-3-year-old would somehow maintain a schedule for himself so the rest of us could get some work done or at least have energy to catch-up after he went to bed reliably at a reasonable hour.

There.

I hear the tiny violins already.

I’ve been saying trite things, but I am just heartbroken over the Buffalo and Uvalde mass shootings… and the massive sucking noise of our civic and governmental failure.

“Cheese toastie” is not a thing. Don’t listen to your mother kid, it’s a grilled cheese.

Trawling through 20 year old emails and mourning missed opportunities. Maybe, finally, learning some lessons…