First off, don’t worry. This isn’t a suicide note. Although I can hardly stomach the market right now, there’s no way I’d do that to my premium subscribers (as for the free accounts, yeah, help me tie this hangman’s noose, if it’s not too much trouble).

Instead, this post is intended to share some thoughts on how I spent my Saturday at a music festival called Cruel World, which is about as out of character for me as dressing up in a garter and high heels. Hanging out in Southern California (don’t like) with other human beings (don’t like) in the sun (don’t like) is just not my cup of tea. I’d much rather me in a dark room with a laptop.

All the same, I did go down, along with the twelve hours of driving required to get to and flee from the place. I am very much a child of the 1980s, and since the musical was ostensibly from that era, I was at least able to join a portion of the music to some degree. However, I’ve got to say, out of 100,000 people (literally), I was, in my estimation, the only person in the entire mob that wasn’t clinically psychotic.

As I hope you would suppose, I was a good kid. I was confirmed into the church. I went to Sunday School every week and Bible School every summer. I was in Indian Guides. Cub Scouts. Webelos. Boy Scout. I was an Eagle Scout at 13 and consistently made good grades in school. All of this was tacitly expected of me, as was the fact that I attended, and paid for, a higher education.

A week ago, a woman in my neighborhood drove full-speed into the side of my car, as shown below a few minutes after it happened. This weekend, I’m picking up a brand new, identical car from the Tesla factory. How could this be? Isn’t a cataclysm like this supposed to be more awful and drawn-out? I’ve been thinking about that.