Fascinoma

I saw the flags are at half mast over the Crapitol today and I thought, "Who died?" But then I remembered it was National Pet Goat Day and realized -- American democracy died on or about this day, some years ago. Sigh.

Now if only they'd quit desecrating the corpse. But enough about that. I think I may quit paying attention to politics for awhile, like.... say -- the rest of my natural life. It might just be time. The other night I tossed and turned with fervid nightmares about a McCain presidency. They were way worse than the usual ones about being naked in driver's ed, in an exam I haven't prepped for, watching the generic Love of My Life bone some Eurotrash git, or waiting on an entire dining room for which the kitchen has lost all the orders. Maybe I'll write a trashy novel or sumpn and just... let go.

In the meantime I prefer to remember this day as the birthday of my friend Mark S. in Santa Barbara, a truly great guy. He and I were at the College of Gnawlidge at the same time as Jon Stewart -- only he was John Liebowitz then, a soccer player with a mullet. Mark lived down the hall from him and used to say (irony worthy of Kierkegaard), "I can't stand that guy. He thinks he's funny."

Happy Birthday, brudda! Long may you wave.