I think I've started this post about a dozen times. I've gotten all heated up about something, sat down to write about it, and been interrupted by something othersuch. Before you know it, my brain train has been derailed, the tracks littered with coal and hobos. Then something utterly else happens, and I try to find a way to knit the two into a cohesiveness, but the result is a blithering failure. So here's the news of the past week, in no particular order:
- Easter always makes me happy, although less for the risen lord than for the plentiful jellybeans. There is special reason to thank said risen lord, if that's your thing, because in an ocean of pointless gourmet flavorballs I have found a new brand of Throwback Beans (Throwbeans!) that taste exactly like childhood. The oranges taste like orange, the reds taste red, the greens like green, the white like sugared wax, the blacks like ambrosia. Our local H&BA establishment (one of seven within a two-block radius, and no I'm not kidding) stocks them for around a buck per bag, and I have been wolfing them by the fistful. And in a week or two, they'll be priced to move for around a quarter a pop. I'm bringing my duffel bag.
- The Situation Room is just stupid. A gymnasium of punditheads sitting around trying to fill three hours with glibness and flashing touch-screens, hosted by that bastion of uniform facial hair, Wolf Blitzer. It's like a televisual blog, right down to the laptops they stare into when they're not talking. They're supposed to look all busy and researchful, but you know they're just wondering where that goddamn red ten is.
- How can McCain claim he's the best candidate for president because he has experience, and with the same mouth pooh-pooh his fervent hawkdom with his favorite sound bite, "We are where we are"? Yeah, and you were a big part of putting us there. How can experience matter and history not? I mean, Mike Brown has "experience" running FEMA, and I wouldn't hire him to walk my dog. And I don't even have a dog.
- There is loads of news on the sireling front. It's funny how these milestones always happen in twos, as the boys lock antlers in full one-upmanship. On Saturday, after weeks of "diving," Robert actually dove in, headfirst and everything, and swam the length of the pool. He is now ready to graduate to the Otters class, where he will presumably learn to open shellfish on his belly. Hours later, TwoBert ran into the bathroom, dropped trou, and pooped in the toilet all by himself. He even demanded privacy, for good measure. We're not out of the woods yet, as T has fecalized a few pairs of undies, but this is a decisively wonderful step. I intend to cement the rewards of toiletry by 1) pouring on the adulation, thick as honey, and 2) buying more Cheerios to be used for target practice.
I must say, as frustrating as it felt to start this post so many times, it feels very good to end it once.