Or Am Somehow Proud

Every day opening the NY Times there are at least three of four Trump related stories there in the bold.  One of them referred to him as a walking wounded zombie candidate, who was damaged beyond electability but still kept taking steps forward.  What a bore to have to read about this person every day.  I dove in, like every other moth-to-flame individual, who considered the front page this morning did, as well.  This wretched reflection of the American underbelly, bluffing his way through the most disingenuous election cycle I can ever recall.

I’m sitting a waiting room.  It appears that this medical chain has been bought out another, larger chain.  They have a different look-and-feel.  They have different pert reminders.  As it is referred to as 'Raffles' I can only assume that is a Singaporean affair.  Every wall has new photos of smiling doctors and medical staff who embody the new brand image.  Why is it that rebranding efforts always look so forced and implausible?  What must be a new flip calendar on the check-in desk has someone receiving a gift from President Lee Hsien Loong. 

Sometimes you pause and stare back at these paragraphs and know just how to link them to the next.  Other times they sit there, as thoughts begun and finished.  There is nothing else one wants to say, for example about the medical facilities rebranding effort.  I’m just glad I’m not responsible for suggesting I like it or am somehow proud to be a part of it. 

Riding down we made a bit more progress with Roskolnikov.  He’s in the penultimate test of wills with Svidrigailov.  It’s been many years and I don’t really recall what becomes of this subplot with the lecherous villain who wants to blackmail Roskolnikov’s sister into marriage.   My daughter and I discussed how odd it was to be routing for Roskolnikov, in this and nearly every scene.  This, despite the fact, that he is the spiteful murderer.

It’s sunny day today in Beijing.  Coming off the highway exit you could see straight forward for twenty kilometers up to the mountains near Huairou.  My daughter commented that last night she even saw stars.   Once again, we stopped on the way home and got ourselves a burrito and talked about the time we lived across the street from a real Taqueria in San Francisco.  Cherry blossoms are blooming here too.  But the trees don't explode quite the same way they do, over in Tokyo.