The Countdown Begins . . .

So I guess one day isn't much of a countdown, but . . . it is one day until the debates. The presidential debates, that is. Of course, there's not much expectation for Bush now--his spin machine has ensured that the bar is set very low. "Stay the Course!" is their motto. It's not up to you to give a shit about what that course might be. They've got it covered, don't you worry. For a party that's supposed to be, by its very nature, distrusting of government, they sure do expect you to put a lot faith (blindly) in a bunch of people who seem to be fucking things up on a regular basis. (Sorry, perk.) But that's O.K. "VOTE BLINDLY WITH YOUR POCKETBOOOKS!" You'll feel really good about yourself tomorrow, I promise. C'mon, you know you want to.

O.K., so I lied . . .

about a couple of things.

First, I am not really mean. I mean, I can be mean, just as anyone can, but I'm not mean by nature. The name is kind of an inside joke.

Second, I told myself I was never going to do this . . . this blogging thing. It seemed too . . . trendy and narcissistic. (Sorry, burb.) And I have quite effectively put it off for some time now. Then again, I've put off a lot of my writing lately, which is as good a reason as any to start writing here. I used to keep a journal religiously, for years and years, all through my college years and during my 20s, including my time in the Peace Corps. Then, on a terrible day of which we shall speak no more, they were all lost in a horrible, unthinkable accident. (No one was hurt, apart from the mortal mental wounding I endured.) Since then, I've been (understandably?) reluctant to spend so much time and energy on something that could be lost in a puff of smoke.

But then again, what in your life couldn't conceivably be lost in a puff of smoke?

I should change the blog title to "One Morbid Chickadee."

Anyway, I was inspired tonight by a certain cowboyish figure on the news. No, not W.--I mean a real cowboy. Unfortunately, what inspired me is that this person is starting to look alarmingly like Skeletor, and I felt a need to point this out in case there's cause for concern. Do you know who I'm talking about? It's James Carville, people. He looks awful.

Don't get me wrong--I love James Carville. I'm fascinated by how he and his wife possibly manage to live together, and I wonder what their relationship is like. It's hard enough to live with someone who shares your political views almost exactly! (Just kidding, baby.) Seriously, how do they not kill each other?

Now, however, I fear she may be slowly poisoning him. Check him out if you get a chance. Tomorrow I'm going to ask burb (suprise, burb!) to teach me how to post photos on this thing, so maybe I can dig one up and present it here. (He was on Paula Zahn tonight. Carville, not burb.) HUGE neck tendons, completely caved-in cheek cavities. Maybe this election is really taking a toll on him. I know it's taking a toll on the rest of us.