Is it polite to wish ill of my enemies?

You may harbor dark thoughts of coronavirus spreading at a contagion-denying political conference, or a presidential rally, or a trashy expensive Florida resort. Enjoy them! Life is short enough as it is, and may be shorter still if this keeps up.

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The thing about coronavirus — about any disease, really — is that we know what to do.

We may not know how to prevent it. We may not know how to cure it. We may not even know how to alleviate suffering.

But we know what to do.

We know how to look for it. We know how to identify it. We know what to do about it.

We know what to do.

Problem is, we don’t do it.

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Bernie is not our first choice this year.

He was our first choice four years ago, in part because he generated optimism, in part because Hillary is an untrustworthy leader (Iraq, not emails) and bad politician. You want Hillary as a Cabinet secretary, not the boss.

Bernie hasn’t worn well in the time since, so this year he’s only our second choice. And y’know, we could live with Cranky Mike if we had to, but it’s looking like we don’t, so good for us, but really, you understand what we’re facing, right? Throw up anybody who isn’t a petty treasonous tyrant, and we’re game.

All of which is to say, we don’t get the sudden freakout over Bernie Sanders.

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Uncle Joe isn’t gonna save us, is he?

We wanted Uncle Joe to save us. That’s who everybody said we wanted, anyway. Everybody’s worried that we don’t want Grandpa Bernie to save us, or Aunt Liz. Everybody’s worried about what we think. They think we want Uncle Joe to save us. Only Uncle Joe isn’t gonna save us.

But maybe Cranky Mike will!

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Here’s what we know: Natalie Wood, then 16, was brutally raped in late 1954 or early 1955.

Here’s what we don’t: The rapist was Kirk Douglas.

The subject came up following his death last Wednesday at age 103, as it did following a Golden Globes appearance two years ago, and as it will Sunday night at the Oscars, following his last-minute inclusion in the Death Montage.

And really, it’s not an unreasonable suspicion. But the certainty with which it’s expressed goes beyond any fact we can nail down. As does the certainty surrounding much of the discussion about it.

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When you’re a President, they let you do it.

They let you lie.

And lie.

And lie.

They broadcast your lies, no matter how bald, with the weakest of clarifications.

They never call them lies.

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World War II — the American part of it — lasted less than four years.

It must have seemed like forever.

Time does that. We can measure time — by day, by year, by atomic second — but the experience of time is not the duration of time. If we’re having a good time, time flies, we don’t know where the time went. If we’re miserable, well…

It’s been a long time since November 2016. Less than four years.

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