In a basic way, I don’t see how Bob Menendez is any different than Donald Trump. He should resign and make way for someone who isn’t indicted.

It’s too much to ask of the electorate—to have to put up with a person who has been in legal trouble off and on for years. Just walk away, Bob. Walk away and face the music. Don’t drag the country and the people of New Jersey through another prolonged legal battle as you languish in office.

How can anyone focus on their job when they have this on their plate? It’s just the latest embarrassment in Congress. Add Bob to the list of those who shouldn’t be there.

Politics, sadly, is just a dirty business. It must be really tempting to stray, make concessions, sell your soul. It’s becoming increasingly easy to paint the whole lot of them with broad strokes, to wonder about everyone in Congress– who they are, what they want, how they got there. And why they seem so intent on staying.

Kudos to those who can keep their noses clean, if that’s even possible.

American football is a high-octane sport, rife with huge egos and testosterone-fueled aggression. It is legalized mayhem, a modern-day form of gladiatorial “entertainment,” played in modern-day colosseums by mostly men who run the gamut in physical stature from normal to unearthly.

While I readily admit to enjoying Fall Saturdays more than Sundays, I’ve never quite been able to comprehend that there would be so many people wanting to play the sport at any level. I fully understand the quest for fame and fortune. I understand the reality of lingering post-career injuries, and that one’s playing days can come to a crashing halt in an instant, so it’s not surprising that players and their agents angle for handsome financial compensation. Beyond that, though, I can’t shake the thought that, besides a fascination with Xs and Os, the reason many play is to have an outlet for their outsized competitiveness and anger issues.

The players keep coming, and the fans gladly do the same. It’s big business where the stands are packed with die-hard fans, beautiful people tucked away in their sky boxes, and other deep-pocketed spectators paying outlandish sums who expect to see an afternoon or evening of high-speed collisions interspersed with some flashy artistry, and maybe some bloodshed and a couple of concussive hits.

Many of us live a bit vicariously. And we are very territorial, not that far removed from our ancient ancestors. But I won’t be buying into the whole “football is life” thing anytime soon.

“I voted” stickers. Isn’t this sort of like a smiley face or a star we got on our work in second grade? I guess we never really outgrow the need for a pat on the head.

Seems kind of silly, though, or at least unnecessary– unless you live in a place where people prefer you didn’t vote. Then it becomes more of a badge of honor.

I have no desire to read beyond the headlines.

The Republicans are caricatures, Gru-like without the redemptive aspect, sent to us by uninformed voters hoping for… what? Another government shutdown? An $826 billion defense appropriations bill? Who spends $826 billion just on defense?

The saddest part is that the country is being held hostage by a small band of Republican holdouts with the hilarious label “Freedom Caucus.” Laugh-out-loud, roll-on-the-floor hysterical.

And yet, not funny at all.

Let’s see… how many ways can we parse what’s going on with regard to the spending bill? Why do we have to go through this as often as we do? What are the Republicans holding out for? How much longer can Kevin McCarthy last before he implodes and his ambition and ass-kissing catch up with him?

And let’s not get started on an impeachment inquiry of… Joe Biden?

It’s a childish tit for tat that we the public have to endure on an endless loop. This is now what passes for governance.

Started reading The Climate Book last night, and this morning I see that a small group of protesters was removed from the U.S. Open in Flushing Meadows for interrupting play.

Good for them.

I guess this is what it will take, though we need more than a few people in a crowd of 24,000. Greta would be proud, nonetheless.

It’s an uphill battle, for sure, but the cause was highlighted in a very public way, and maybe others in attendance agreed with those who were removed– it’s just that their revelry couldn’t be disturbed. They just wanted to come and watch a little tennis. They didn’t come there to have their consciences pricked and have another item added to the list of things they should be doing something about.

Climate healing is Job 1 for the world, but not nearly enough people are convinced of that. May 3 become 300, and 3000, and so on. And may we somehow learn to embrace the changes that need to come if our children are to have a planet to continue living on.

It seems the only reason the 14^th Amendment couldn’t be used to keep Trump off the ballot would be the frenzy surrounding the mountain of bullshit that would be generated over interpretation—over what makes for involvement in an insurrection, and what counts as insurrection in the first place. Otherwise, how is this provision any less immune from application than the prohibitions regarding citizenship or minimum age?

If it ends up in the hands of the Supreme Court, I think we can at least guess how things will go.

All this drama over a true impostor. Trump may think he’s consequential, but that’s by default– he took up space and breathable air in the Oval Office for four years.

Our niece’s husband works in the Vegas Golden Knights organization. He has his name on the Stanley Cup, which the Knights won for the first time, on their second trip to the finals, in their sixth season in the NHL, this past June. We were invited to join the party when he got the Cup for a day.

The lock screen on my phone displays a full-frame picture of the Cup sitting on a dock at the shore of a lake, glistening in the sun, a shining reminder of a human accomplishment few get to revel in. It’s not a stock photo. I took it myself. I’m not bragging—I didn’t win the Cup—it’s just that I’m still savoring the moment, pinching myself because I was fortunate enough to be in its presence for a while. It’s the very same trophy that one sees the players hoisting during the on-ice celebration after they win the whole thing. It has its own catalog of great stories that go back to 1892.

In this earthly life, the Cup represents unparalleled athletic achievement, the culmination, to me, of an incredible team effort—players, management, and staff finding and shaping talent, navigating and emerging victorious from what amounts to a whole regular season and then a quarter of another season in a sport that’s both beautiful and brutish and tests the limits of human endurance.

I got to drink from the cup that the likes of Bobby Orr, Wayne Gretzky, Sidney Crosby, Alex Ovechkin, Rocket Richard, and a host of other greats have all lifted over their heads, and from which have consumed all manner of libation. And in which at least two babies have been baptized.

I may not return to earth for a while yet.

Reversing climate disaster should be everyone’s Job 1. This summer has been a preview of things to come. It’s just gonna get worse from here on out, even if it gets cold this winter.

What are the chances we can all take this seriously and change our ways? That window is getting smaller and it’s almost closed.

Turns out filling the earth and subduing it is a bad idea. Who knew?

I derive vicarious pleasure from watching someone win a lot of money.

Viktor Hovland took home the Tour Championship trophy yesterday and won $18 million. He also has a 5-year full exemption, through 2028– doesn’t have to worry about qualifying for any tournament he might want to play in. Nice.

Last place even got half a million bucks, so a decent payday all around.

I’m not gonna complain about it. What’s the use? All I’ll say is the prize money is staggering, and I hope they do something good with their riches in addition to donating to their local chapter of The First Tee.