I woke today to further Donald Trump controversy, as a recording was released of him being disgusting ten years ago, in earshot of George W Bush’s cousin. I’m not sure if it was the Overton Window or just that I’m jaded,but I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. Trump had said so many awful things already that it felt strange that finally people were saying this showed he wasn’t a suitable presidential candidate.
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Irresponsible superheroes

On the way home from the track, we fell to reminiscing about TV programmes of the 80s; classics like Air Wolf, Street Hawk and Manimal, that bizarre classic where through the simple power of heavy breathing, a man could transform himself into any animal he chose. Although mostly he chose to be a bird, possibly for budgetary reasons.

My friend has never heard of Automan though. A legitimate oddity, where the eponymous hero could obtain superpowers like turning into a cat or a plane or just having a Tron-like suit by simply …sticking his fingers into an electrical socket. Could anything top that for terrible examples to give children?

Either Prescription Medicine Man, who gets special powers if he can gobble up all the pills he can find around the house. Or his sidekick, Bleach Boy, imbued with prodigious strength whenever he drinks drain cleaner. Bag-of-skag-man and his filthy works. Or the zany duo that is Derek Paedo and Keith Hitler, complete with a theme song with lyrics like “He’s a very funny man, just don’t get in his van”… When you’re formulating a song for a non-existent children’s TV programme about a couple of sex offenders, you have to wonder if your life has taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Otherwise, a normalish day. I went to the dentist who told me I have four cavities. I went to the track and did laps at 1:38 until I almost puked, so perhaps I’m not as slow as I thought I was. I watched another epic motorcycle race. And I had to give La Serpiente a cuddle until she fell asleep, and I sat there in the dark thinking about how lucky I am to have such wonderful kids.

Running on pizza and random thoughts

Tonight, after dining on nutritious pizza, I went out running. I didn’t feel like going down to street level so I ran around the running track on the 26th floor of our building. I was trying to run 200m sprints, but since the GPS on my watch doesn’t work so well when there are huge buildings blocking out the sky, I had to estimate it by pacing it out, and then when I ran what I thought was 200m and managed it in 36 seconds, I realised I was probably going a bit short. So I ran 12 150m sprints (I guess – I must go back out with a measuring wheel at some point and clarify this) and then went down to street level to fetch some cash from the bank.
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We’re not friends any more

Tonight I was planning on going onto Facebook and sifting out all my friends from all the casual acquaintances, ex work colleagues, people I went to school with twenty years ago and random adds, and deleting anyone who isn’t a real friend. I’m not sure if this plan was born from simple misanthropism, a desire to tidy things up, or just a sign I felt I didn’t have enough to do this evening.
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Out of touch

For me, one of the most aggravating paradoxes of modern life is my inability to communicate, given how hyperconnected we are now. Growing up there was no internet in our house, and one telephone line (without even an answer phone until I reached my teen years) in the house. No voice mail, no call waiting, no text messaging, no email, no online video, no Skype, no Facebook, no Google. It’s a wonder we communicated at all, especially when there were three teenagers and two adults sharing the same house and the same phone line. No call waiting back in the old days…
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