Harangue should rhyme with Merengue, but it doesn’t. It rhymes with Meringue.

I went to Dayton for the WGI Percussion World Championships and I returned from Dayton with a kid who now has pneumonia.

Harangue: If your kid is super sick, you shouldn’t let them share a six hour bus ride with a bunch of healthy kids. Those healthy kids? They will slowly drop like sleep-deprived drummers who have been exposed to a highly-contagious virus. Because that’s what they are. A drumline trip isn’t the same thing as an anti-vax chickenpox party. Similarly, please don’t use the Notre Dame fire to promote your passions. “If only people would cry for the unborn babies as much as they cry for the burning of Notre Dame.” “Notre Dame was 759 years old. If we don’t start taking care of the Earth, it won’t be around for 759 more years.” Listen. I get it. We all feel very strongly about the things we feel very strongly about. Surprisingly enough, I’m able to feel sad about the Notre Dame fire AND pissed about injustice AND concerned about political corruption AND distressed about the homeless population AND I like to think most of us are capable of multitrack mindedness. We are amazingly complex and beautiful humans, because I always try to finish harsh statements with pleasant ones.

Meanwhile, in Indiana:

Me: I’ve got your eyeballs in my left hand, Ronald McDonald.

Ronald McDonald: (perturbed silence)

Me: Oh, Ronald McDonald! You never had real eyeballs. Someone painted eyeballs onto your face and then someone else scratched them out and you can’t see that you’re contributing to the health crisis in the United States, can you?! (Your fries are delicious, because I always try to finish harsh statements with pleasant ones.)

Just give me a day or two to cheer up. It will happen. Perhaps on Thursday.