In case you hadn't noticed, there's still a pandemic going on.
I had no doubt in my mind that most states opened too early. Scientific experts warned of a second wave, and it's already hit the deep south (incidentally, the first states to open) and states with shrinking COVID cases are easing into opening with wariness. Governors that put the economy over their constituents are eating their words. The Gallants to these Goofuses (Goofi?) treaded lightly from the get-go, fully knowing the federal government wouldn't be much help.
Before you call me out for posting "old news," I am sharing this article from early March to remind everyone that Trump administration's response to COVID-19 was embarrassingly weak even before the entire country shuttered. Trump's legacy is now forever tainted by a crisis he refused to respond to until it was too late. If you still don't believe there's a pandemic, you're a godforsaken fool, and the Venn diagram between you and President Trump's most ardent supporters is practically one circle.
I wanted this post to be strictly about the pandemic, but it played an indirect part in the upheaval of the Chicago comedy community. Last week, iO Chicago co-founder and owner Charna Halpern shut down the improv institution after 39 years, claiming it as a COVID casualty. Perhaps, but that was only one reason: Charna was put on blast for decades of mistreatment of women, people of color, and the LGBTQ+ community. A number of talented performers refused to do business with iO and not without reason.
In the aftermath of iO's demise, a private Facebook group was launched called Chicago Improv Rebuild. I was added in the first 24 hours of its creation, but I had to put the group on mute within a day or so. The intent was noble, and some good ideas were expressed and exchanged, but this forum was dragged down in quick procession by interpersonal drama. Racism, sexism, and transphobia permeate through our comedy community, but the dialogue is dominated by people who are in love with the sound of their own voice. One person in question (long story) made me feel uncomfortable on a couple of occasions, but played the victim and resorted to character assassination. There are now at least six admins/moderators, but it still doesn't feel like there are enough adults in the room. The narcissism is too unyielding.
How am I handling things otherwise? I'm going to safely assume that any ambitious plans for the remainder of 2020 are shot. I might take a day trip to northwest Indiana, maybe to central Illinois too, but any chance of more travel will have to wait awhile. I'm receiving state unemployment benefits, while still supplementing my income with Lyft. Substitute teaching at the start of the 2020-21 school year is looking unlikely. Hosting remote comedy shows has been a nice relief, but I'm still restless and bored.
More dispatches soon. It feels good to be writing on a semi-regular basis again. Happy Fourth.
(652)
Saturday, June 27, 2020
Sunday, June 7, 2020
Two Weeks of Turmoil
Bruce Jay Friedman's 1962 novel "Stern" is a parable of man's weakness. In the book, a young Jewish businessman and suburban transplant known only as Stern is incapable of defending his wife after a neighbor makes an anti-Semetic remark. The incident circles around in his head, to the extent that he develops an ulcer and is literally immobilized by his own insecurity.
The fact that Friedman passed away last week is only somewhat pertinent here. Over the past two weeks, I have related to Stern in far too many ways. A lifetime of social awkwardness has made me second-guess and reconsider most of my interactions, itself a kind of paralysis. It has been a challenge to say something both insightful and unique about the brutal death of George Floyd. It's been a conundrum of sorts; the wrong turn of phrase will vilify you, but silence suggests being complicit. The most noble intentions can be undercut by a poorly worded statement. White privilege is my wife.
We have the seen the same vicious cycle too many times now: an unarmed black man is suspected by a police officer of committing a minor crime. There is no hard evidence, nothing tangible to suspect the man besides a hunch. The black man tries to explain his innocence, but his earnest defense is confused for belligerence. Things escalate, and in a matter of moments the man is dead. The aftermath is too similar: there is witness video, the African-American community is outraged, the police officers are vilified by the public, but they get a slap on the wrist if they're even punished at all. A few months later, in another part of the country, the same thing happens again.
With George Floyd, however, something snapped.
At long last, white people in the suburbs noticed. As protests were held in cities, suburbs, and small towns alike, a long-overdue dialogue about the treatment of people of color, both now and throughout U.S. history, was finally initiated. After downtown Naperville (a suburb near my hometown) was looted on June 1st, businesses in neighboring towns started boarding up their panel windows. Some towns like Naperville have always had an undercurrent of racism; this reckoning was probably overdue. The notion of safety and comfort, even in a "nice" suburb, has always been an illusion.
Everything that has transpired since May 25th has reinforced the ugly notion that Donald Trump wouldn't have been elected without the support of bigots and reactionaries. A substantial portion of conservative America, fed lies and exaggerations for over 20 years by the Fox News gaslight machine, found the walrus for their carpenter in Trump. Alas, Fox News was really the carpenter, and his ardent followers were the oysters.
When I think of specific people on Facebook that post right-wing memes, I noticed a pattern that transcended mere political beliefs. Just looking at high school acquaintances alone, I saw they fell into four categories: I remembered these particular kids as bullies, "slow on the uptake," assholes, crazy, or some combination of the four. At the risk of throwing around offensive labels, I can't think of a single Trump supporter that I remember being kind, quiet, or even-keeled. These people don't want a dialogue, they want to get a rise out of you while projecting their shortsighted beliefs. Why I'm still Facebook friends with any of them might be baffling, but I suppose I'm more patient than others. Plus, the unfollow button has been rather helpful.
Anxiety and politic cannot be conflated here. If you're not angry and sickened by what happened to George Floyd, you're on the wrong side. In the nearly two weeks since his death, I've seen a handful of people on social media admit they can't comprehend what's going on, beyond near-nightly reports of violence. The best thing I can tell them is this: if you want to understand why people are angry, listen to the people that are angry.
Black lives matter.
(651)
The fact that Friedman passed away last week is only somewhat pertinent here. Over the past two weeks, I have related to Stern in far too many ways. A lifetime of social awkwardness has made me second-guess and reconsider most of my interactions, itself a kind of paralysis. It has been a challenge to say something both insightful and unique about the brutal death of George Floyd. It's been a conundrum of sorts; the wrong turn of phrase will vilify you, but silence suggests being complicit. The most noble intentions can be undercut by a poorly worded statement. White privilege is my wife.
We have the seen the same vicious cycle too many times now: an unarmed black man is suspected by a police officer of committing a minor crime. There is no hard evidence, nothing tangible to suspect the man besides a hunch. The black man tries to explain his innocence, but his earnest defense is confused for belligerence. Things escalate, and in a matter of moments the man is dead. The aftermath is too similar: there is witness video, the African-American community is outraged, the police officers are vilified by the public, but they get a slap on the wrist if they're even punished at all. A few months later, in another part of the country, the same thing happens again.
With George Floyd, however, something snapped.
At long last, white people in the suburbs noticed. As protests were held in cities, suburbs, and small towns alike, a long-overdue dialogue about the treatment of people of color, both now and throughout U.S. history, was finally initiated. After downtown Naperville (a suburb near my hometown) was looted on June 1st, businesses in neighboring towns started boarding up their panel windows. Some towns like Naperville have always had an undercurrent of racism; this reckoning was probably overdue. The notion of safety and comfort, even in a "nice" suburb, has always been an illusion.
Everything that has transpired since May 25th has reinforced the ugly notion that Donald Trump wouldn't have been elected without the support of bigots and reactionaries. A substantial portion of conservative America, fed lies and exaggerations for over 20 years by the Fox News gaslight machine, found the walrus for their carpenter in Trump. Alas, Fox News was really the carpenter, and his ardent followers were the oysters.
When I think of specific people on Facebook that post right-wing memes, I noticed a pattern that transcended mere political beliefs. Just looking at high school acquaintances alone, I saw they fell into four categories: I remembered these particular kids as bullies, "slow on the uptake," assholes, crazy, or some combination of the four. At the risk of throwing around offensive labels, I can't think of a single Trump supporter that I remember being kind, quiet, or even-keeled. These people don't want a dialogue, they want to get a rise out of you while projecting their shortsighted beliefs. Why I'm still Facebook friends with any of them might be baffling, but I suppose I'm more patient than others. Plus, the unfollow button has been rather helpful.
Anxiety and politic cannot be conflated here. If you're not angry and sickened by what happened to George Floyd, you're on the wrong side. In the nearly two weeks since his death, I've seen a handful of people on social media admit they can't comprehend what's going on, beyond near-nightly reports of violence. The best thing I can tell them is this: if you want to understand why people are angry, listen to the people that are angry.
Black lives matter.
(651)
Monday, June 1, 2020
Through a Freshman's Eyes, War on Terror Edition
Better late than never, I give you my annual mindset list. In a way, the lives of this year's high school seniors so far have been bookended by tragedy. They were born in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, and are now matriculating during an out of control pandemic. Their entire lives, all 18 years or so, have been surrounded by some level of uncertainty, and above all I'm sorry your final semester of high school didn't go according to plan.
If you are a graduating senior...
...September 11th has always been a national holiday.
...we have always been at war with Afghanistan.
...Iraq, Iran, and North Korea have always been referred to as the "Axis of Evil."
...Enron has always been insolvent.
...Andrea Yates has always been in prison.
...eBay has always owned Paypal.
...Google has always had an image search option.
...you have never seen, used, or heard of a beeper.
...Halle Berry's name has always been preceeded by "Academy Award Winner."
...Jimmy Carter is better known as a Nobel Peace Prize winner than as a politician.
...people have always complained that there are too many reality shows on TV.
...Fox News Channel has always been the #1 cable news network.
...all cable news channels have always had a news scroll on the bottom of the screen.
...Adult Swim has always aired after dark on Cartoon Network.
...the only time you've seen Will Ferrell on SNL was on some old DVD.
...there has never been an NBA team in Vancouver, British Columbia.
...the New England Patriots have always been a Super Bowl contender.
...the Houston Texans have always been in the NFL, and there have always been eight four-team divisions.
...George Harrison, Nigel Hawthorne, Dorothy McGuire, Issac Stern, Ken Kesey, Foster Brooks, Troy Donahue, Lance Loud, Dick Schaap, Avery Schreiber, Dave Thomas from Wendy's, Michael Bilandic, Peggy Lee, Night Train Lane, Daniel Pearl, Waylon Jennings, Princess Margaret, The Queen Mother, Lawrence Tierney, Chuck Jones, Spike Milligan, Robert Urich, Billy Wilder, Milton Berle, Dudley Moore, Justice Byron White, Left Eye Lopes, Seattle Slew, Dave Berg, Stephen Jay Gould, Sam Snead, John Gotti, Jack Buck, Darryl Kile, Ann Landers, John Entwistle, Pete Grey, Ted Williams, Rod Steiger, Alan Lomax, Leo McKern, Chaim Potok, Chick Hearn, Hoyt Wilhelm, Rosemary Clooney, and Lionel Hampton have always been dead.
For reference here's last year's list.
Next Week: back to topical commentary. I fully acknowledge that a lot has happened, and I'm still processing my thoughts.
(650)
If you are a graduating senior...
...September 11th has always been a national holiday.
...we have always been at war with Afghanistan.
...Iraq, Iran, and North Korea have always been referred to as the "Axis of Evil."
...Enron has always been insolvent.
...Andrea Yates has always been in prison.
...eBay has always owned Paypal.
...Google has always had an image search option.
...you have never seen, used, or heard of a beeper.
...Halle Berry's name has always been preceeded by "Academy Award Winner."
...Jimmy Carter is better known as a Nobel Peace Prize winner than as a politician.
...people have always complained that there are too many reality shows on TV.
...Fox News Channel has always been the #1 cable news network.
...all cable news channels have always had a news scroll on the bottom of the screen.
...Adult Swim has always aired after dark on Cartoon Network.
...the only time you've seen Will Ferrell on SNL was on some old DVD.
...there has never been an NBA team in Vancouver, British Columbia.
...the New England Patriots have always been a Super Bowl contender.
...the Houston Texans have always been in the NFL, and there have always been eight four-team divisions.
...George Harrison, Nigel Hawthorne, Dorothy McGuire, Issac Stern, Ken Kesey, Foster Brooks, Troy Donahue, Lance Loud, Dick Schaap, Avery Schreiber, Dave Thomas from Wendy's, Michael Bilandic, Peggy Lee, Night Train Lane, Daniel Pearl, Waylon Jennings, Princess Margaret, The Queen Mother, Lawrence Tierney, Chuck Jones, Spike Milligan, Robert Urich, Billy Wilder, Milton Berle, Dudley Moore, Justice Byron White, Left Eye Lopes, Seattle Slew, Dave Berg, Stephen Jay Gould, Sam Snead, John Gotti, Jack Buck, Darryl Kile, Ann Landers, John Entwistle, Pete Grey, Ted Williams, Rod Steiger, Alan Lomax, Leo McKern, Chaim Potok, Chick Hearn, Hoyt Wilhelm, Rosemary Clooney, and Lionel Hampton have always been dead.
For reference here's last year's list.
Next Week: back to topical commentary. I fully acknowledge that a lot has happened, and I'm still processing my thoughts.
(650)
Saturday, May 23, 2020
Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 6
Public opinion is starting to sway toward reopening. That's not to say we're ready by any means; the United States is collectively fatigued after 10 weeks at home. The threat of COVID-19 hasn't gone away --I'm going to keep repeating that-- and states that have reopened have all seen spikes in cases and deaths. People are fighting on social media and in real life over wearing masks. These bold and brazen folks are calling us fraidy-cats. We're only thinking about ourselves, not others, and especially not the immuno-compromised. Illinois still has stay in place, but the governor is buckling.
Admittedly, I'm getting rather bold myself. At first, I was limiting driving for Lyft and Postmates to two, maybe three nights a week. With my unemployment benefits lapsing in two weeks, I'm hesitant to keep dipping into rainy day money. I'm waking up a little earlier, trying to get more stuff done around the apartment in daylight, then go out driving just in time for rush hour. Unless businesses completely reopen (that is to say, are safe to reopen) this is pretty much my life for the next three months.
My latest concern is whether I can afford to stay in my apartment. I'm 6 1/2 months into a one-year lease. Unemployment benefits from the state would help somewhat, but I don't want to face that ordeal again. My roommate is a furloughed cook; he leaves the apartment maybe once a week, and he's practically paying rent as a loan shark. (More on that later.) My sister's best friend and tenant is mostly back at her parents' house; her father died suddenly in early May, and her mother is immuno-compromised. Whether she stays at my sister's house remains to be seen. I still drive out once a week to pick up mail, see the dogs, and soldier on with our never-ending cleaning project. I feel guilty, as if making the 40-minute drive is a wasteful luxury.
Next Week: my annual mindset list.
(649)
Admittedly, I'm getting rather bold myself. At first, I was limiting driving for Lyft and Postmates to two, maybe three nights a week. With my unemployment benefits lapsing in two weeks, I'm hesitant to keep dipping into rainy day money. I'm waking up a little earlier, trying to get more stuff done around the apartment in daylight, then go out driving just in time for rush hour. Unless businesses completely reopen (that is to say, are safe to reopen) this is pretty much my life for the next three months.
My latest concern is whether I can afford to stay in my apartment. I'm 6 1/2 months into a one-year lease. Unemployment benefits from the state would help somewhat, but I don't want to face that ordeal again. My roommate is a furloughed cook; he leaves the apartment maybe once a week, and he's practically paying rent as a loan shark. (More on that later.) My sister's best friend and tenant is mostly back at her parents' house; her father died suddenly in early May, and her mother is immuno-compromised. Whether she stays at my sister's house remains to be seen. I still drive out once a week to pick up mail, see the dogs, and soldier on with our never-ending cleaning project. I feel guilty, as if making the 40-minute drive is a wasteful luxury.
Next Week: my annual mindset list.
(649)
Friday, May 15, 2020
Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 5
I had a particularly strange Lyft ride last Friday night. I picked up this passenger less than half a mile from my apartment; he wasn't wearing a mask, and almost immediately after he got into the car, he asked about "Plandemic." For the unfamiliar, "Plandemic" was a documentary uploaded to YouTube that reinforced several unfounded conspiracy theories about COVID-19. It's been removed and uploaded back to YouTube multiple times in the last week, citing misinformation rules. I saw the video, I know it's nonsense, but he thought it "made you think." I asked politely if he could change the subject, but he persisted. I hate that I had to snap at him, but I did what I could to avoid a more heated argument.
People are getting restless, but there's little we can do. That notorious curve isn't flattening. The death totals aren't tapering off, either. The health experts aren't giving any indicators that the US as a whole is making progress in the COVID-19 fight. Misinformation is spreading as fast as the virus. The federal government's response has been (to put it mildly) slow, feckless, and unhelpful. Other countries have recovered while the U.S. population bickers over haircuts. Theaters of any kind likely won't open until late in 2020, which puts my weekend job on the kibosh. Wisconsin reopened, probably too soon. There's no timetable for anything else.
There's a sliver of hope, though: baseball will be back. Two-plus months without this sort of diversion has been rough. I'm acclimated to going to a bunch of games during the spring and summer, but I can handle only watching baseball on TV. (I've haven't bothered to stay up to watch Korean ball, an ESPN "exclusive.") Otherwise, it looks like the rest of our summer has been cancelled. Fatigue has undoubtedly kicked in, but there's little we can do. We just have to persist.
(648)
People are getting restless, but there's little we can do. That notorious curve isn't flattening. The death totals aren't tapering off, either. The health experts aren't giving any indicators that the US as a whole is making progress in the COVID-19 fight. Misinformation is spreading as fast as the virus. The federal government's response has been (to put it mildly) slow, feckless, and unhelpful. Other countries have recovered while the U.S. population bickers over haircuts. Theaters of any kind likely won't open until late in 2020, which puts my weekend job on the kibosh. Wisconsin reopened, probably too soon. There's no timetable for anything else.
There's a sliver of hope, though: baseball will be back. Two-plus months without this sort of diversion has been rough. I'm acclimated to going to a bunch of games during the spring and summer, but I can handle only watching baseball on TV. (I've haven't bothered to stay up to watch Korean ball, an ESPN "exclusive.") Otherwise, it looks like the rest of our summer has been cancelled. Fatigue has undoubtedly kicked in, but there's little we can do. We just have to persist.
(648)
Saturday, May 2, 2020
Promotion Commotion, Ten Years Later
I'm taking a breather from essaying about life in quarantine to discuss something personal:
I don't normally broadcast this out of fear of jinxing myself, but I had a job interview in Schaumburg on Thursday. I thought it was going to be a phone interview, but I was asked to drive out for a socially distanced sitdown. (Yes, it's essential work, and I can't elaborate further.) It occurred to me while driving out of the city that not only was my interview one town over from my old office, it was on the 10th anniversary of when I was replaced.
Four months ago on Facebook, I wrote a lengthy post comparing and contrasting where I was in 2010 as we approached the new decade. I discussed my last radio gig, but not what led up to losing my job. To sum up another long post, I had my EOE-obligated job interview on February 8th, then spent the next 11 weeks waiting for a decision that was supposed to take 14 days. I discovered by accident that at least two rounds of interviews were held without my knowledge. During my last week in the office, I noticed people were strangely avoiding me, and Administrative Professionals Day came and went without a mention. I was the receptionist, for chrissakes.
On April 30th, I was summoned to the business manager's office. It was about 90 minutes before the office closed for the weekend. The manager informed me that after some deliberation, it had come down to me and another candidate... and they went with the other candidate. This business manager, someone who made absolutely no effort to get to know me in the time we shared an office space, watched disdainfully as I clean out my desk. The traffic/billing manager --my actual boss-- escorted me out to the parking garage while fighting back tears.
The timing was awkward, to say the least. I had my Level E (graduation) show at Second City the next day, and I had mentioned that to people in the office. None of my now-former co-workers showed up, and even though the show went okay, I felt numb. The next day, after my last training center class, some of us went out for drinks across the street. I had a train to catch, so I only stuck around for a half-hour. Before I left, I said thank you and farewell to my classmates before noticing that my voice was quivering. I noticed then and there that I was waking up the next morning to nothing. As I walked from Corcoran's Bar to Sedgwick Brown Line, it was my turn to fight back the tears.
That was what was on my mind after my job interview on Thursday. Inexplicably, one decade and another ratings quarter on the outside looking in, the management at my old station hasn't changed. A number of other people, including my old direct superior were forced out for myriad reasons. Almost everyone I've been in touch with had comtempt for the general manager, but especially that business manager. The corporate office in Camarillo, CA couldn't care less who's in charge as long as the Chicago branch is turning a profit. Maybe its more symptomatic of commercial radio in general, but the cutting of corners to stay in the black is absurd. Six different people have come and gone in my former position, no one lasting more than 2 1/2 years.
As time has marched on, I've only grown more embarrassed to have ever worked for Salem Media Group. It's just another outlet for right-wing misinformation, something I barely tolerated in the late 2000s that I can't bring myself to listen to now. The same people that are encouraging armed protests against stay-at-home orders, that insinuate Jewish elected officials are somehow Nazis, are stirring outrage over temporary inconveniences, that gloss over President Trump's failures. They are (albeit indirectly) enablers of unnecessary chaos, gaslighters of the highest order.
So, while I was in the neighborhood, I took a selfie of myself flipping the bird at my former office. I figured it was the least I could do.
Clearly, I'm not ready to forgive. I don't know if I ever will be. I'm a bit more pragmatic than I was 10 years ago. I did everything I could to not burn bridges, but things have grown too dire and too polarized. My work situation is imperfect (for now) but I've made peace with the fact that I'll probably never work in radio again. I'm too out of the loop. Someday, I hope to write a book about my time in radio, with a plot structure not unlike "Gulliver's Travels." My two years at Salem were going to be the last chapter of the book. Unlike Swift, I'm grasping to find any kind of happy ending.
(647)
I don't normally broadcast this out of fear of jinxing myself, but I had a job interview in Schaumburg on Thursday. I thought it was going to be a phone interview, but I was asked to drive out for a socially distanced sitdown. (Yes, it's essential work, and I can't elaborate further.) It occurred to me while driving out of the city that not only was my interview one town over from my old office, it was on the 10th anniversary of when I was replaced.
Four months ago on Facebook, I wrote a lengthy post comparing and contrasting where I was in 2010 as we approached the new decade. I discussed my last radio gig, but not what led up to losing my job. To sum up another long post, I had my EOE-obligated job interview on February 8th, then spent the next 11 weeks waiting for a decision that was supposed to take 14 days. I discovered by accident that at least two rounds of interviews were held without my knowledge. During my last week in the office, I noticed people were strangely avoiding me, and Administrative Professionals Day came and went without a mention. I was the receptionist, for chrissakes.
On April 30th, I was summoned to the business manager's office. It was about 90 minutes before the office closed for the weekend. The manager informed me that after some deliberation, it had come down to me and another candidate... and they went with the other candidate. This business manager, someone who made absolutely no effort to get to know me in the time we shared an office space, watched disdainfully as I clean out my desk. The traffic/billing manager --my actual boss-- escorted me out to the parking garage while fighting back tears.
The timing was awkward, to say the least. I had my Level E (graduation) show at Second City the next day, and I had mentioned that to people in the office. None of my now-former co-workers showed up, and even though the show went okay, I felt numb. The next day, after my last training center class, some of us went out for drinks across the street. I had a train to catch, so I only stuck around for a half-hour. Before I left, I said thank you and farewell to my classmates before noticing that my voice was quivering. I noticed then and there that I was waking up the next morning to nothing. As I walked from Corcoran's Bar to Sedgwick Brown Line, it was my turn to fight back the tears.
That was what was on my mind after my job interview on Thursday. Inexplicably, one decade and another ratings quarter on the outside looking in, the management at my old station hasn't changed. A number of other people, including my old direct superior were forced out for myriad reasons. Almost everyone I've been in touch with had comtempt for the general manager, but especially that business manager. The corporate office in Camarillo, CA couldn't care less who's in charge as long as the Chicago branch is turning a profit. Maybe its more symptomatic of commercial radio in general, but the cutting of corners to stay in the black is absurd. Six different people have come and gone in my former position, no one lasting more than 2 1/2 years.
As time has marched on, I've only grown more embarrassed to have ever worked for Salem Media Group. It's just another outlet for right-wing misinformation, something I barely tolerated in the late 2000s that I can't bring myself to listen to now. The same people that are encouraging armed protests against stay-at-home orders, that insinuate Jewish elected officials are somehow Nazis, are stirring outrage over temporary inconveniences, that gloss over President Trump's failures. They are (albeit indirectly) enablers of unnecessary chaos, gaslighters of the highest order.
So, while I was in the neighborhood, I took a selfie of myself flipping the bird at my former office. I figured it was the least I could do.
Clearly, I'm not ready to forgive. I don't know if I ever will be. I'm a bit more pragmatic than I was 10 years ago. I did everything I could to not burn bridges, but things have grown too dire and too polarized. My work situation is imperfect (for now) but I've made peace with the fact that I'll probably never work in radio again. I'm too out of the loop. Someday, I hope to write a book about my time in radio, with a plot structure not unlike "Gulliver's Travels." My two years at Salem were going to be the last chapter of the book. Unlike Swift, I'm grasping to find any kind of happy ending.
(647)
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