I Have No Topic

I'm not really even trying at this point to come up with anything coherent.
Day 3,285 of the pandemic is bringing balls-out, no holds barred ranting.

WTF weather people?! Is this global crisis somehow disabling your doppler radar? Is satellite technology incapacitated right at the time we need something reliably predictable?

It genuinely feels like in the last two weeks the meteorologists' abilities to accurately forecast the weather are conversely proportionate to the amount of Trump's bullshit. Yesterday it was supposed to be 66 degrees and partly cloudy. I got excited. I know 66 degrees isn't summer or anything, but it's decently warm and when you pair it with a nice chardonnay some sunshine it summons you to put out your outdoor patio cushions and put on your flip flops. Both of which I did, god damn it. And then it was only 62. And cloudy. And breezy. WTF weather people?!

And then when I woke up this morning IT HAD RAINED! And before you wonder why that's all in caps, let me just tell you it's all in caps because there was NO RAIN IN THE FORECAST FOR TEN DAYS! So to recap, it was supposed to be warm and it was not supposed to rain and now it's chilly and it rained and my patio cushions are soaking wet and even if it's bright and sunny tomorrow, which it says it's going to be but now my trust has been so shattered that I frankly am not even sure there is such a thing as a meteorological degree or doppler radar, I can't sit outside on my patio furniture because as I said it's wet.

I did take a walk yesterday morning, before it got cold, and may I gently suggest to all of America that if you're going to go out on a walk or a run or anywhere really where you are out in public at all you should not spit. I mean, you shouldn't really do that anyway, ever, but right now, at this particular time, again, WTF?! Who does that? I will tell you who does that. A lady running with her dog down the bike lane of Laguna Park Way, that's who. I do not ever, lady with her dog, want to walk toward the gross splat on the asphalt that is your spit (sorry to use that word again but I did look up alternatives and the alternatives are, frankly, absolutely disgusting and so spit it is, no matter how many times I need to use the word). But currently, in this pandemicky time of silent carriers and aerosolized contagions, I don't want your spit to even come out of your mouth if you are outside of your own home. Nobody does. You should know that. You do know that. Be polite. Be considerate. Be safe. Don't be a knuckle-dragger. Or a lummox. Or a muttonhead. Now I'm just having fun with the online thesaurus. Turns out you canNOT look up synonyms for dick or dickhead. You have to settle for synonyms for jerk. And they are all nicer sounding than any of the synonyms for spit. So there you go.

Supply chains are unpredictable right now (probably went to the same school as the meteorologists). So far we have been able to get what we need, get something pretty close to what we need, make what we have last a ridiculously stupid amount of time by adjusting how we use it, or realize we don't actually need something and give up trying to get it. All good. But I'm just saying when the supply chain for Cheetos grinds to a halt, all hell will break loose. I promise you that.

Is it lunchtime yet? Not yet?