I threw some new titles up onto the website this afternoon, inspired by last night, when I sat at home watching a fine film about the wonders of the neutron bomb. I didn't really feel like doing much else. The new ones remind of the Washington Post Sunday Edition. Back in the day, during the salad days of the Style Invitational, they used to have "The Ear No One Reads" which was located (where ears are, naturally!) on the upper right hand front page of the Style section each Sunday. It always said something crazy. It reminded me of when I used to work on a newspaper in college and unintentional puns slipped through the censors and made it to the final edition. We'd always be a little sheepish, but most of the time they were just laugh-out-loud funny, so I didn't feel too bad. Hopefully these title will one day be looked back upon as lighter fare than the main courses that eventually replaced them.

This evening the sky has the sort of color, combined with the red, sunlit clouds, that reminds me of my namesake. I should really get down to one of the art galleries sometime now that the weather has started to approach a normal temperature and the tourist season is slowly dying down.

I'm leaving late...with the knowledge that the next three days will be fairly busy for me, seeing as how everyone in the office has assigned me some mundane task to complete. Oh, well. At least I have a great job most of the time.

At the risk of exposing more details, let's just say that my previous employer's workplace was full of crazy moments like people getting escorted out of the building by security due to a wicked pornography habit or a cubicle fight over a single woman. In all cases, each of the participants had been recently married, which I'm sure led to even more fun once said people returned to their happy homes. This revelation tops marital infidelity (whether by swimsuit model or office secretary), quite handily.

No porn, though. Okay, back to work.

Every so often, something happens to remind me that my life is very plush. Sometimes it's a little thing. Sometimes it's a big thing.

The news I received this morning was particularly apt at conveying this message. Most of the time I'm not squeamish about sharing lurid details of my life on this website. However, since in this instance said details involve another person, I'm not going to dish dirt here. If you know me, you should definitely speak to me. Everyone else can simply salivate and get used to disappointment.

I'll get back to the regular dirty laundry lists later.

Or, more precisely, why Jonathan Chait hates Bush. The article is right here. Unlocked for your pleasure: you don't need to be a TNR subscriber. Yay! Some choice words...but be sure to read the whole thing.

All this helps answer the oft-posed question of why liberals detest Bush more than Reagan. It's not just that Bush has been more ideologically radical; it's that Bush's success represents a breakdown of the political process. Reagan didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was; his election came at the crest of a twelve-year-long popular rebellion against liberalism. Bush, on the other hand, assumed office at a time when most Americans approved of Clinton's policies. He triumphed largely because a number of democratic safeguards failed. The media overwhelmingly bought into Bush's compassionate-conservative facade and downplayed his radical economic conservatism. On top of that, it took the monomania of a third-party spoiler candidate, plus an electoral college that gives disproportionate weight to GOP voters--the voting population of Gore's blue-state voters exceeded that of Bush's red-state voters--even to bring Bush close enough that faulty ballots in Florida could put him in office.

But Bush is never called to task for the radical disconnect between how he got into office and what he has done since arriving. Reporters don't ask if he has succeeded in "changing the tone." Even the fact that Bush lost the popular vote is hardly ever mentioned. Liberals hate Bush not because he has succeeded but because his success is deeply unfair and could even be described as cheating.

Strong words for troubling times.

With Clark's entry into the race, the question of Dean's "electability" has come to the forefront again. Clark supporters (and I know many) seem to feel that the General is the only person who can reliably beat George Bush. The ghosts of the past have spooked Dems into believing that a candidate's resume matters more than anything else. The best counter-example? Our current President. If the Dems were to run someone who skipped out of National Guard duty at a time when Vietnam was raging, that candidate would be crucified. If we were to run a candidate whose "business experience" involved wasting millions of other peopls's dollar, the candidate wouldn't make it past the primary. In short, if the GOP is willing to defeat a true prisoner-of-war hero like John McCain in favor for George Bush, only to see Bush elected over Gore, the question of electability is moot. The real question is how to rally your base, and Dr. Dean has the ability to do that in spades, plus energize new voters.

But just in case anyone forgot the timely cartoon from awhile back, here it is again, with Dr. Dean as Goofus!

My Saturday and Sunday were spend, in large part, cleaning up. The house was a mess, and it's now about 50% less messy. Several large bags of trash have been removed, although some serious cleaning is left to be done. I also managed to clean up the outside quite a bit, which took the better part of today. Why?

Well, I woke up and went downstairs this morning, eager to watch the Ravens play. But, of course, I don't have Sunday Ticket on DirecTV this year, the first time in three years that I don't have it. Very annoying. I go upstairs to see how much it costs and possibly order it online. Before I do so I check my e-mail and discover that the Dean campaign has thrown the bat back up. So I check both sites simultaneously...and discover that DirecTV's Sunday Ticket would cost 4 payments of over $50. By contrast, I could contribute $25 a month to the Dean campaign as a "monthly supporter". I decide to plunk down the $25 for the Dean campaign.

In the absence of Sunday Ticket, I didn't like either of the games that were on today, so I got outside and started to tackle the overgrown jungle that has taken over my yard. It felt great: the day was a perfect temperature with just enough sun to keep me warm and just enough of a breeze to keep me cool. I cranked up my sound system while working and by the time I turned in it appeared that a hurricane had actually come and done some positive damage to the yard. I realized halfway through that most of my friends don't even have a yard. Most have tiny apartments where sitting outside isn't even possible, but even when it is a rooftop has to suffice. Instead, things here are perfect. And the outside is finally starting to reflect that.

Saturday was more about cleaning up inside. After a lengthy ride during the incredibly sunny part of the day, I started to finally get most of the basement and first floor cleaned, along with my room. There's still some little stuff to do, but the presence of the Miami/BC football demanded my attention, and by the time it hit halftime I needed to go chill out with Leto for some much needed food and fun. All told, a very enjoyable day.

Better late than never, right?

First off, the Dean campaign just busted out the bat. $5 million dollars would be a huge sum. It would be a slap back at "the establishment" who seem to have coalesced against the Dean campaign. It's odd...mainly because Dean has run as an "outsider" for so long, despite being moderate, that only now with Clark's appearance is there a legitimate "insider" backed by the establishment. More oddly, Clark himself is actually more of an outsider than Dean. In a regular campaign, Clark would attract all the passionate people from the internet fringe, but by showing up late to the party, he's lost these people to Dean.

And those Dean supporters are truly something to watch. Each one contributes an average of $64. That's pittance in the world of campaign contributions. But the total effect is staggering: they raised over 100 grand overnight! In the middle of a Sunday morning, people were sitting at their computer looking at the bat increase it's total. I'm a little worried that $5 million is too ambitious, but the last two times I thought that the bat ended up going well over the mark. So I'm skeptical, but then again, I already poined up $25 a month. It was between that and getting Sunday ticket...I figure I can get outside and hang out with friends instead of sitting on the couch for 6 hours each Sunday afternoon. Which is what I'm about to do in a minute. The yard needs some serious work and I intend to knock out several varieties of plants.

I'll get back to Saturday night in a minute.

Friday night, I ventured out of the house, spontaneous cap in place. I called some people up to see what people were up to. Few, if any, responded. Now my normal plan of attack is just to go places, do some stuff, and eventually an opportunity will present itself. It always does. But as the minutes ticked by, I started to think that I was going to have a lousy Friday evening. The lack of old names in my cell was certainly hurting, but even independently of that, I just expect that things will resolve themselves, and it appeared that I was wrong.

I think about dropping off at Ruth's Chris's (?) steak house, because I've never been there before. But my attire is more appropriate to going out and partying than to attending a fancy restaurant. So I bail there. I head over to Bistro du Coin to grab a steak but just as I walk by a fire engine pulls up and firemen start preparing to run inside. The host was waving them in. A bad sign, I figure. My spirit somewhat damaged, I head over to Chipotle. The line is out the door. Another bad sign, but by this point I'm starving. So I get in line, wishing that things had turned out differently. The line is moving so slowly that it takes me 15 minutes just to move halfway through it.

Phone rings. It's Fincher and a friend. They're hungry for chili cheese fries, the kind that can be found at Ben's Chili Bowl. They want to know if I'm in. I say yes. Problem solved.

If I had gone to Ruth's Chris's or Bistro du Coin I would've spent way too much money to eat by myself. And if I had done that or if the line had been shorter at Chipotle, by the time Fincher called, I wouldn't have been able to consume and chili cheese fries, which would've been equally bad if not more annoying.

So things worked out perfectly spontaneously. As I mentioned above, they always do. You just have to let things take their course.

At the risk of swinging from the yardam, I'd like to relate this bit of juicy gossip concerning 24's Season Two DVD release:

Most Truthful Bonus Point: On one of the audio commentaries, Surnow finally explains how the writers decide what happens to the Kim Bauer character: "We have a 15-minute rule on her. She's gotta be either kidnapped, grabbed at gunpoint, being chased or in a car accident every 15 minutes of the show, or she's not Kim Bauer." And now you know the rest of the story.

Argh! Tis a fine lass, that Kim Bauer...a fine excuse to kill her, that is! I'd volunterr to kidnap the wench, but she might drive me crazy with her frilly lace.

So I drop anchor in my home port yesterday, to avoid the foul gale Isabel. While enjoying some fine women and drink, I heard several stories which even my good eye had trouble with.

The names of the tales were "Tears of the Sun", "Punch-Drunk Love" and "Basic". Each began to take on water as soon at they left port, with most foundering in the shoals long before the end of their treasonous missions. Oddly, all tales featured good crews with bad boats. Even "Basic", possessing a cap'n of extreme skill, was unable to blow the man home.

Polly, me parrot, warned me as much when the first yarn began. "Run For Your Life" he squawked over and over again. I miss me bird, but the silence after I ate him taught the rest of the scallywags a lesson they'll like not to forget. And if anyone of thems do forget, me knife will learn them good.

Yarr, I missed the bedeviling new show on ABC "Threat Matrix". But some skipper managed to strike his colors and jot down the following notes in his captain's log:

I hope everybody watched "Threat Matrix" on ABC last night. If you missed it, it might also be listed in your TV guide as "Alias for Right-Wingers" or more precisely, as "24 for people who trust George W. Bush".

Here's what you missed, if you didn't catch it:

1. There were anti-trade, anti-WTO protestors outside the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, where a bomber was about to blow the place up. The protestors also had signs echoing the Anti-Iraq Invasion protestors' signs, saying "No Blood For Oil". When the bomber was thrown into a Bomb Squad van so he could blow up safely, killing only himself, the blast made a "No Blood For Oil" sign in the foreground flutter up into the shot. When approaching the Exchange, seeing the protestors caused the manly hero to say, "What do these idiots want?" Thanks ABC, owned by Disney.
2. The hero at one point has three foreign teen terrorists in a Homeland Security jail cell. His legal advisor says they need to get them lawyers, that that's a basic right in the US, and that the Justice Department will have to follow the Consitution. The "hero" of the show says he's making them "enemy combatants", so that he won't have to give them lawyers. He says, "We have to keep a Chinese Wall between our prisoners and Justice". I assume he meant the Department of Justice, but his assertion was chilling in any case. On "24" last year, they sent the bad guy to Gitmo, too, but we weren't supposed to feel smug and proud about it.
3. One of the first big things the Homeland Security character who gives the Ari/Rumsfeld-style public briefings - (is he supposed to be the head of the Department? No, he refers to "Secretery Ridge". Is he supposed to be ths spokesman? What hath Fleischer wrought?) - Anyway, his big, pretentious, close-up, chrarcter-defining line early in the first act is, "We never negotiate with terrorists." This policy is re-iterated at least once more later in the episode. Then, the plot device at the end of the episode is, they get the hero's ex-wife and operational partner (!?) back from terrorists by - wait for it! - negotiating for her. In fact, they trade the three teen terrorists for her, because "she's worth it".

Argh. Kicking up a squall is what this cap'n does best but that's a mighty fine yarn spun there. Makes me almost with so have seen it, mead in one hand and wench in the other.

Aye, the seas are full of schemin' pirates, but there's none so feared as the Ruthless Dubya. The Dubya shows no mercy to women or the we ones. He sows fear across the land, promising to save your town if you give him tribute. After you've given him the gold, he returns to collect it all, lootin' the treasure chests and taking your wenches. Dubya's love of booty comes above all else.

Tis time for some swashbuckling buccaneer to trade steel with the monster himself. Dubya and his evil henchman, blackhearts all, have burned too many towns for an upstanding Pirate like myself to keep swabbing the decks in silence. Looking for booty is one thing, but stealing wenches breaks the Pirate's Code. Word on The Main Line is that the Admirality itself is sending a fleet of ten speedy ships, good captains all, to dispatch of this scurvy rat. Their ships are smaller and faster than ths lumbering galleon Dubya commands, the "Grand Ole' Packyderm", with guns a plenty and plenty of fresh mates to scrape the bottom with.

I've no love for the Admirality, but ridding the oceans of this sea-swine is a good thing.

Some scaliwags using the nefarious "Internet Explorer" have told this old sailor that the skull-n-bones next to the nameplate is encrusted with barnacles. But any long in the tooth mate of mine who sails in a ship as leaky as the "Internet Explorer" knows that strong mead and a good head of wind behind you can't make up for a bad boat.

I myself sail in a speedy boat by the name of "Firebird", with trim sails and a fast keel. The poopdeck may be tiny, but she'll outsail any ship in the fleet. So far all you land lubbers who'd rather rowboat yourself around in a barnacle barge, you have my pity.

Yarr. If you be a dastardly foreign devil, then this here be your Pirate Day page. Boarding of boats and hoisting the ole' jolly roger are demanded throughout the seven seas.

And there'll be black spots for all ye who defy this order from your cap'n.

Ahoy, there skippers! All Hands on Deck! It be Talk Like a Pirate Day! So weigh anchor and head for hilarity! With the foul, spanish wench behind us, it be clear sailin' all the way through the weekend. If you be without a full head of sail behind you, simply set your course for calmer seas and smoother spirits in a new locale. Throw any land lubber overboard, because the day belong to us Pirates!

...is almost here. I'm going to head home in a minute to shutter some stuff. Then it's off to see if I can find any hurricane parties.

Like the new background? I've been trying to find a way to give the site a little more distinct of an appearance. So tell me what you think!

The only thing worse than cleaning, of course, is bills. At least when you clean up an area you can delude yourself into thinking that it will stay clean at least for the foreseable future. Will bills, however, you know that no effort or energy on your part this month will prevent next month's bill from arriving, larger than ever. So I'm paying a few off tonight while I'm up. Might as well, right? Now all I need to do is find a way to earn some quick money.

Hmm. The damage wasn't so bad. The only regret I have is that it's now too late to keep up the good work. I did manage to fire off an e-mail to an old friend though, who seemed as eager as I was to correspond.

Remember when you used to write real letters? Okay, maybe you never did. But I did. In college. They were of a decent length and for the first year, I was actually dependable about sending them out. Sure, they were extra effort. But nothing felt better than when I got one in return a few weeks later. Pulling a thick envelope out of my mailbox when I was with friends before dinner was a special treat. I'd go upstairs, snag some food, and read as the rest of the people I was with looked on, wishing they too had super-cool friends who wrote real letters instead of just e-mail.

It didn't last. I didn't really expect it to. The effort was very large...and the time delay was frustrating. If something cool happened, I had to wait until it was my turn to write, which meant I'd forget some of the details, which was obviously bad. Oddly, I didn't pick up the ball over e-mail. Instead, I grew gradually busier and busier until I had no time for personal snail mail or e-mail. I was getting tons of messages every day, but they were all work/school related. It was annoying but there was nothing I could do about it.

Now things are quieter. Work is busy, but when I clock out I stop worrying about it. Combined with this week's lack of sleep, I've managed to catch up on a great deal of things I needed to do, including e-mail.

Writing is always enjoyable...but reading is even better. Although I wish more of my friends had website that I could frequent, e-mail is much more personal and therefore superior. Plus, almost none of my friends know about the site, so I doubt many use it to keep tabs on me. But maybe I'm mistaken. Time to crash, regardless.

So I randomly run into a friend via friendster and he says he's got a radio show at Notre Dame going on at 1:00 central so I tune in and call him up and make a request.

Okay, so he doesn't find the song I requested, but still, the amount of spontaneity present this evening made it worthwhile. I mean, I haven't spoken to this kid in years...two thumbs up for the effort, man.

My office, after an extensive six hour effort, is now clean. The party area behind me is covered in kipple, but the important thing, namely my office, is at least 95% clean. Yeah, it wasn't that exciting an evening. No, I'm not bummed about it. I've been meaning to do this for almost six months now and it's good to finally get to it.