Fascinoma

My girlfriend, The Lobbyist is really, really, really not big on cold weather, so we didn't try to trudge down to the Mall to see the Inauguration, which I regret missing (in person) about as much as I regret missing Woodstock -- which is: infinitesimally. Instead we went to our local Irish pub and toasted the new President in with a congenial and nicely partisan crowd. We turned to our sandwiches when Reverend Bigot was speaking.

Later, we had a really nice dinner with some dear firends in the Lobbyist's Pleasure Dome, washing the yummy salmon down with some fine French wine in honor of Old Europe.

I'm a little surprised that the pundits aren't chattering a bit more about all the pardons that didn't come down before W. left office. But then again, that might call attention to all the heinous stuff they paid no attention to when he was still the Decider.

One friend speculates that Dick Cheney actually threw his back out stoking the shredder -- which sounds a lot more likely to me than him doing it in the course of honest labor. Dick doubtless has illegals to do box-toting and that sort of thing for him. Another friend speculates that his back troubles are the psychosomatic literalizing of his diminishment -- kind of like the face boils that W got when the 200 election was still hanging by the chads. As James Wolcott points out, Dick looks just like Mr. Potter, the laissez-faire despot in It's A Wonderful Life.