I would ask for directions and all would start off normally: “Go down Fourth Street and take a right on Poplar.”<br />But then all would slide into a fog of incomprehensibility and I would keep nodding furiously to try to persuade the person<br />that I could follow what was being said: “Then you toggle over that spur of the thruway that goes under the overpass before the six roundabouts of the gargle.”<br />By this time entire hemispheres of my brain had shut down, and as the person kept talking, my entire existence slipped into a catatonic mist: “After<br />that it’s just six wheedles up the perplex and after a quick stop at the bolint it’s the 27th driveway on the right.”<br />The incompetent person in the Trump administration has to live in that stupor shroud every day.<br />It is in its own way a privilege to be alive at the same time as a man who is the Albert Einstein of confirmation bias, a man whose most impressive wall is the one between himself<br />and evidence, a man who doesn’t need to go off in search of enemies because he is already his own worst one.<br />I hope his team continues to take advantage of the fact that it takes only one inexperienced stooge to undo the accomplishments of 100 normal workers.<br />Just to take a small example by way of illustration, in the days before GPS I<br />was (and remain) profoundly incompetent at comprehending driving directions.
