1. My husband says we’re in hell now. He said this to the rabid father of the rabid relative I told you about. It might seem a bit strong. But yes, it’s warm for November, and for the people here who may again have to run for their lives, the terror alone is a torment.

2. Whether the filth that keeps coming from the mouth of the now-elected felon is more for attention, a stunt, than an indication of his depravity can perhaps be debated. My mother always said that people who used slang, or swore, merely didn’t have a big-enough vocabulary—so maybe filth, period, is just emptiness. Peabrain-ness. (One can only extrapolate.)

(Rabid—is that a swear word?)

3. The actor Jeremy Strong, in an Oct. 28 Time article about the movie business and his role in The Apprentice (2024), speaks of the urge he feels to find good material—movie scripts of consequence, real worth, into which to pour himself. “I guess I feel like the world is on fire,” he says, “and I’m not that interested in laundry-folding content.” But the fact remains: clothes won’t get folded unless you fold them. It’s the best way to empty the basket. Same old same old as all the laundry loads before: you might as well tend to whatever you don’t want staring you in the face the next morning. There’s plenty else to haunt you besides some jumbled towels and socks just delivered from the beating-down, baking sun.

The best way to empty, I said. Not almost best.

It feels somewhat derelict to return to trivialities, go back to posting my dumb little rants about the small, everyday peeves and serendipities, about what’s better vs. what’s not. I will, however, natter on. But I also intend to watch The Apprentice (if it doesn’t get yanked), given its scrutiny of our felon in his younger years and the political fixer who mentored him, inculcating in him the cutthroat behaviors that led to his rise.

My husband says he won’t watch. He wants not to wallow. Well fine. I’m better at wallowing, I guess. Or worse.