Such are the dream of the everyday housewife.

  I've treated today like the rainy, miserable lump it was, so we might as well put something here before midnight comes around. I had something for this before I took a nap, but my dumb ass didn't write anything down. So, if nothing else, we'll start with the News.

 It was a solid week of news. Nothing too deep or earth-shattering, but it got the job done. Monday, actually, I went off on a tangent about Aberdeen. It's actually what I really like doing, telling stories that aren't being told. Or stories that aren't being told a certain way.

 Wednesday and Friday, as much as I hate to, gave a little attention to Kyle Rittenhouse's one-man Bonnie & Clyde week. This isn't a case of "oh, don't give it attention" nonsense. I don't follow that stroke nor do I give it any credence. The news will be told whether you tell it or not. It's because that kid's situation is so risible and irritating. If he wasn't a middle-class bourgeoise cracker spawn and if he had shot anyone but dirty protestors protesting Authority getting away with what it wanted to do, he'd be up under the jail. Same with Reality Winner and the lack of interest in her plight from the "dirtbag left," whatever the hell that is.

 There was also a little on the COVID-19 stimulus package Biden is trying to get through and some of the bullshit ICE proves that really doesn't help the "why, no, we're not fascist stormtroopers, we have good intentions" is nothing but horseshit. Like with Authority giving Rittenhouse a pass, we've been slapped in the face with that stroke so much over the past decade, I can't believe we expect people to believe us when we say we don't see it.

 In a lazy mood, I guess. It started early in the week and has just gotten worse. I think the whole "Johnny Paycheck as the Avatar of why progressive/populist movements generally shoot themselves in the foot" thing that came out Monday sort of wrecked things. That and my head's been thick into easing back into whatever my "space opera" turns out to be. 

 Again, though, it's still a case of world-building being much easier than coming up with an actual story. I am going to have a booger of a time coming up with alien names, planets, etc. So far I've been using Star Control names as a placeholder. I've decided to completely give up on any "hardness" and just raise hell. I am going to stick with my "different species can't breed" rule, though. I never have figured out how that's supposed to work.

 I'll use a modified Alcubierre drive for in-system travel and the whole quantum wormhole with jump gates thing for traveling to different sectors. I think my favorite display of a galactic community is the one in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so it'll be closer to that except not as funny. The alien federation says you can either join us, leave us, or get pounded into dust, humanity, it's your choice. Just seems practical, especially if I'm not farting around with hard scifi. It's enough damn work trying to come up with a story.

 In any event, that's the word count and I believe that's enough for tonight. Tomorrow's the Super Bowl and I don't care. However, since Tom Brady sold his soul to Dark Powers From The Dawn Of Time, I'm going with the Buccaneers over the Chiefs. Even money, though, I wouldn't give more than 10 points on it.