As a long-serving museum professional, it’s grown tiresome to watch museums whose stated missions I ardently believe in absolutely and resoundingly fumble the execution.

Let’s normalize sitting in your car in the parking lot before work and disassociating for a bit. Oh wait, we have? Groovy.

Every work email I receive is sent with the urgency of a sinking ship’s final SOS. The situation is always dire and grim: Respond or else the world will slip into chaos and darkness!

I work for a teetering living history museum, y’all. It’s all just poor time management skills, not emergencies.

My morning routine, of late:
1. Make a pot of coffee.
2. Feed the cats.
3. Take my allergy meds.
4. See what havoc the morons have wrought this day.
5. Focus on my breathing/count to ten.

I have just deleted my work email account from my personal phone, and I cannot express how satisfying this feeling of liberation is.

I thought we were calling them Swasticars, but this’ll do too.

Wrote to my congressional representative while frying up my pierogis. Mentioned he needed to do something about that clown Elon Musk. Lost count of how many times I used the term “halfwit.”

#selfcare

I find it supremely lame that, somewhere in the infinite multiverse, there’s a Josh enjoying a taco truck on every corner, an articulate chief executive and the rule of law. Why not Earth 1-99999?

Oh look, Melania shops at Hats by Sam Giancana.

That son of a bitch is a shade of orange that would make Fanta jealous.

I am eagerly awaiting the Os and the Nats joining Bluesky.