Thursday's dawn will find me and my daughter in transit to Southwest Missouri's Ozarks, home of the rugged individualist who slavishly bows to all fatuities uttered by Limbaugh; of the Christian money-grubber; of the flag-waving chickenhawk; of wretchedly underpaid workers and a supremely comfortable leisure class; of fierce libertarianism and immense federal dollars.
Hitchens once drove through my old regional haunt, where he noticed that "On the radio, people who are very obviously products of evolution quarrel at the top of their leathery lungs with the verdict." To the auditor, however, there can be no quarrel: human evolution simply must be a fraud, or at any rate its progress evidently collapsed at the internal borders of Missouri's Seventh Congressional District (which, by the way, is now represented by a former auctioneer and radio circus barker who knows how to cast a "Yes" vote to any Cantor concoction, though I doubt he could spell it).
Whatever. The point is, where we're going, to paraphrase Christopher Lloyd, there are few roads, and no Internet. I shall be incommunicado till Tuesday. I bid you a pleasant, extended weekend.