I got nothing but the obvious. Vote. Vote because you can. Vote because all’s I want for Christmas is some semblance of a government of checks and balances.

Vote because how often do you get to repeat your name and spell it and repeat it and point to it for a retiree with a 12-inch ruler.

(For the shit I knew nothing about, I had a sound methodology for quick study. I looked up the rabid, frothing right-wingers and voted the opposite. Take the state supreme court judge who was taking the baby-killing wrath for not supporting an unproven, ill-conceived parental notification on abortion proposition. I checked my box next to good old, apparently rational Joyce Kennard. Thank you Mr. GOP!)

I’m praying to the special god that watches over Rev. Ted Haggard when he’s kicking back in a gay meth haze that at least the House might flip.

Ah, yeah. Um. Vote.

The post below, the one with clams in it, was supposed to be sent last night. But, I learned something new instead.

An apostrophe in your subject line fucks the mind of your computer. One apostrophe. Dumb computers. A simple “It’s” and it’s fucked.

I’m smarter than that. It takes two apostrophes to slow me down.

Here’s the restaurant we visited. It’s called “Old Port” just like the ‘hood in Portland, ME. There’s nautical charts of Maine’s islands on the wall and picnic tables. But, you know you ain’t in Maine, because everything is lacquered and California-cute and clean looking.

Aw well. The clams were good. They said it was a particularly tasty batch.