Low battery, zero judgment.

Sam and I are in Palo Alto, California, visiting our friends, so my writing is limited by time and the fact that I forgot the charger for my laptop. Hence, this is written without edits or reflection, what I call a kitchen sink draft, because I’ve wholesale chucked everything in, including restraint.

Have you ever been patted down at the airport? I ask this out of genuine curiosity, because I was. I went through the security screening at Bradley International Airport in Hartford and didn’t pass. I saw the scan, which indicated “an anomaly” near my right pocket and entire groin area. I don’t wear underwear, (see what I mean about restraint?) had nothing in my pockets, and my hips are my own, but I was pulled out of line and questioned.

Did I want to be frisked in public, or privately, the TSA person asked, and I picked public, because I thought it would be a light pat-down.

I was wrong. I had to “widen my stance” and have my crotch handled aggressively before being told to turn around to present my butt to similar indignity. Then I was waved off without explanation.

My quick surmise is that this either makes zero sense or maybe it’s a targeted warning to keep my mouth shut about how deeply I abhor Donald Trump and his MAGA ilk. For the record, they suck.

Okay. Now let’s see if I get frisked at SFO on my way home.