The Pups are soliciting photographs of their tab staffs this year. I guess they’re trying to scare people away. I think it’s a good thing, though. I’m working with Catholic Charlie and Marty Page (who sadly lacks a coachean nickname, but if you ask me, he’s ripe for one), and having pictures of them will help me identify them when they try to break into the tab room. The only picture I could come up with of myself is about a million years old, but it was the best I could do. It’s the same one that’s in my passport; if it can get me into the European Union, it ought to be able to get me into New Haven. I probably should get a new picture that I like. Maybe I’ll take a selfie. I have so far managed to resist that particular untempting temptation. Maybe I'll give it a shot before Scalia says something else too nutty to resist and distracts me from it. I'm unclear on the mechanics of it, though. I’ll have to ask the nearest hippy how to do it. (Which, by the way, to my mind meant that he was going to ask Justice Ginsburg. What do I know?)
I’m also thinking of running for President as a Republican. Everyone else is doing it, and I feel as if I’m missing out. I’d run as a Democrat, which is more fitting to my politics, but honestly, I think Biden has that nomination locked. So the GOP it is. (What? I’m not Hillarian? Jeesh. I want a boat on which to put all Clintons and Bushes, every generation of them from top to bottom, including their pets, that I can push off into the deepest waters and have done with it. Imagine a world where you never again heard the name Clinton or Bush. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto?)
There’s nothing like quiet summer days for the mind to wander.