Don’t bother they’re here…

Don’t you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don’t bother, they’re here.

Send in the Clowns, from A Little Night Music by Stephen Sondheim

If you’ve ever sung Sondheim, you’ll know that he writes the worst chords in London. And, if you’ve ever sung Sondheim, you’ll get that reference.

You may have noticed that I haven’t written much lately. Then again, since my inbox hasn’t been filled with messages saying “OMG where are you? We need your brilliance,” maybe you haven’t noticed.

It’s just a shift in priorities. It’s knowing that stressing out over providing a daily post isn’t what I need to be doing right now. It’s just that simple.

It’s the first of October and while the memory is fresh, we should try to remember September.

Then again, there’s much we probably don’t want to remember.

I wrote at the beginning of September about Our Week at the Circus. Who could have imagined at that point that the whole confirmation process, or not confirmation process, would be continuing.

But, unless you live under a rock (about which I say living under Schoolhouse Rock and learning about the Constitution might not be a bad idea), then you’ve witnessed the circus still going on in Washington.

Last week, we basically saw this on display.

In the midst of that, the U.S. Senate has beclowned themselves.

I have attempted not to comment on social media. I’ve retweeted far more than I should have. It is challenging for a recovering political geek. So, even though I’m not jumping into the fray, I can’t look away from the spectacle.

I have my opinions. You have yours.

At the end of the day, nothing is going to change that. With the newest FBI investigation scheduled, no one will be satisfied.

If they find something, the right will still say that the Judge was persecuted.

If they find nothing, the left will still not be satisfied with the selection.

Oh, the volumes that I could write about that. But I won’t.

What I will say is that we, as a nation, should be embarrassed by our “leaders” in Washington.

All of them.

ALL. OF. THEM.

It is likely that the House of Representatives will change control…it is less likely that the effectiveness of Washington will change.

We get the government that we pay for…well, us or China, Russia, or George Soros…

I digress.

I can’t fix Washington.

Nothing but a good old fashioned CTRL+ALT+DEL and a good rebooting of about 535 Congressional behinds back to their respective homelands will do that.

It’s not going to happen.

Instead, and I’ve had this discussion with several of my friends from my days in the political arena.

There’s good in this world. Samwise got that.

There are things worth fighting for. I just don’t think my particular fight is in the political arena any longer.

Instead, I write I direct, I paint…and I try to pry myself away from Twitter.

This past weekend, I managed to complete a few projects around the house, including priming the porch for a good pre-winter painting, repairing the deck that I fell through last fall (resulting in a hospital stay for an infection), and building a fire pit. Okay, I bought the block, and showed the 18-year-old how to build the fire pit. I call it White Dad Privilege.

Progress. And ultimately things that will have more of an impact on my life than what’s going on in Washington.

Today, as you’re reading this, I’m off on an excursion to spend the day with one of my best lifetime friends. Forty years ago we traveled with a team from Asbury College (now University). He was with me when I found out about my father’s passing. Years later, I drove to Pittsburgh to be with him as he told his father goodbye.

This Friday night is the world premiere, so to speak of Clean Dry Socks, Diary of a Doughboy, my script based on my grandfather’s diary from World War I at River City Community Players. He was hit with chemical gas during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. One hundred years ago this week, he was recovering in a military hospital in France.

Monday, we start rehearsals for A Doublewide, Texas Christmas, the next show I’m directing at CAT Theatre.

So, you see, I don’t have time for the circus.

And clowns are creepy anyway.

 

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