Whenever Klara arrives at her changing table, she looks up and to the left. She sees something there that makes her very happy. She laughs, makes happy faces, and babbles for as long as we let her, staring at a mysterious interlocutor N and I don’t see. She doesn’t do that anywhere else in the house. It’s just this particular spot between the ceiling and the wall of her room where something very attractive to her but unseen to us is located.

We have arrived at a conclusion that there must be a portal to another dimension in that spot that only Klara has access to.

I wonder, are the folks who are ranting against “immoral” aborting women on campus email contacting their representatives in the Congress and urging them to pass the measures that will stop the spread of the horrible Zika virus? The virus that is destroying the actual lives of actual babies?

No, it’s not true, I don’t wonder. I know the answer. They don’t give a shit about babies. Fucking hypocrites.

There is a long article in the NY TIMES about a bunch of pouty, entitled men who are bored out of their heads and are excited over the possibility of inflicting Trump on the rest of us in order to punish us for not providing them with as much luxury as they believe they deserve. It’s really scary shit, folks. One can try to break through conviction, belief, opinion, anything. But there is no arguing with pouty entitlement.

I go to my work email, and what do I discover? A few colleagues noticed a goose with a broken wing on campus and decided to help it. Other colleagues asked for advice on how to protect a goose nest that they saw around campus. All was well and good until a couple of people decided to pollute the discussion with moaning about immoral women destroying “unborn life in the womb” and asking if this is what American soldiers have been dying for overseas. No, I don’t see the connection either. 

This is work email, mind you. It’s one thing to discuss working conditions on campus (of which conditions geese are a huge part, as you know from my previous posts). But I would be pilloried if I sent out any pro-abortion messages to the university community (and rightfully so because the work email exists for other purposes). In the meanwhile, we have to sit by quietly as we are publicly berated for being immoral women and for supposedly disrespecting soldiers because we believe we have the right to decide what occurs inside our own bodies. For fuck’s sake, is that the liberal academia I’m hearing so much about?

Of course, I sent out an email in response insisting that I not be exposed to this sort of propaganda in the workplace. I’m very angry right now.

Instead of addressing the director of the university press where I submitted my manuscript as “Dear Greg”, I addressed him as “Fear Greg.” Twice. I don’t think I need to get back in touch with my analyst to interpret the meaning of this slip.

You never know where on your physique baby vomit will end up. Which means that appearing in public with a huge patch of vomit visible to everybody but you is inevitable.

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A debate between Trump and Bernie would make for great television but Trump will slaughter Bernie, and I don’t want to see Bernie hurt.

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Trying to get our Textbook Services to provide me with a textbook I will use to teach a course next semester is harder than getting Putin to release Nadiya Savchenko. Every time I try to do it, I feel like some sort of a criminal in the process of doing something untoward.

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Klara’s paternal grandmother doesn’t seem to know that Klara exists. It’s just as well because her anti-semitic heart might give out if she hears such a clearly Jewish name. 

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We now have DirecTV, and it elongates human beings on our old TV set. This makes everybody who appears on the screen look very emaciated. I’m now afraid to watch America’s Next Top Model on this set.

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N’s favorite TV show is American Greed because it feeds his nostalgia of the post-Soviet 1990s in Russia.