Tomorrow is it, the big 4-year showdown. There is a tiny voice in my head hoping that the majority of people will see that we are WORSE OFF SINCE BUSH HAS TAKEN OFFICE.

I wish someone would hire Dorothy Kearns Goodwin to do a retrospective of White-House-based malfeasance and general political bullshit through the centuries. I would think all the presidential scholars in all the world would be hard-pressed to find any one on par with the Bush team and the truly scaly Karl Rove.

Yesterday, I was listening to some of “Choice 2004” by Frontline and American Radioworks. I am going to make time and listen to the whole thing, maybe while I’m shredding my nails and watching the numbers come in tomorrow.

I’m more than a little bummed that M. and I won’t be together for Election Day. For one thing, I’ll miss having someone with whom to yell at the TV set and flip channels and register the swirl of incredulity and, I hope, joy that will follow. But, where it is his first time at the polls, it would be even more interesting to see his reactions, as, I guess, a stakeholder.

Meanwhile, his household is planning a return-watching get-together after those who can go out and vote. Poor me with no one to yell with or at, while Bush still exists in the world of polictics.

By the way, whether or not you’re a big fan of Eminem, check out this music video. I found it pretty amazing, compellingly addressing both the general why you should vote and the specific of why you should vote against Bush.

While I’m mentioning anti-Bush videos, please watch Bush Focus Group.

After seeing this cluster of posts on boston-online.com, I have to say this year was pretty disappointing.

One kid reached into the bowl and took more candy, after I had already tossed some into his bag. Shit, when I was a kid, if anyone was that greedy there would be hell to pay. I can’t even imagine what Pat’s reaction might have been, but the retribution would be swift and not silent.

There were a lot of adults or pretty freaking old kids knocking on the door. In one group of people, the three guys had fucking goatees. Not peach fuzz, mind you, but serious, full-on, groomed facial hair. I gave them shit for going door to door.

Someone else, who was in that weird Hillary Duff kind of groove, so she could have been young and trying to look old, or actually old, didn’t take her cell phone away from her face to provide a cursory “Trick or Treat.” That one was particularly weird, because someone opened my front door and stepped into my hallway, where the candy was, but I hollered and the door shut again. When I opened the door and said something, the cell-phone chick said it wasn’t her and proffered her plastic pumpkin’s opening toward me.

A few non-English speaking people came by who were clearly adults. I dunno, maybe that was just a weird cultural disconnect not greedy begging behavior.

Halloween and Daylight’s savings begins or ends or whatever happens when you get your robbed hour back. It’s a two-fer holiday. So far, only one porchful of begging youth. I hope there are more and some actual children in costume.

Other than that, I’ve been customizing this layout and thinking about how I want it to look. I haven’t decided. The only thing I know for sure is that all of the content and pics should be original and created by yours truly. Right now, the background tiling is from Photoshopping a stonewall from a photo I took in the Ukraine. And the banner, subject to change, is sunset of the Grand Tetons, which I snapped after making my sister stop the car way out west.

On the trick or treat front, I just had my wish above granted — Some actual little, little kids with cute costumes. The little Robin boy was very cute, but unfortunately I don’t think anyone can pull of the Robin sans Batman look without appearing uber-homo. Actually, I guess Robin is more gay with Batman.

Speaking of gay things, I really hate seeing teenage boys in drag on Halloween. There was some kid working at K-Mart when I went to buy candy all trannied out. I don’t think I hate the drag costume, because of a homophobic, anti-queen, transvestite streak. I think it’s the opposite. Suspicion that the drag boys of Halloween are all future (or present) frat boys who think their homophia is awfully adorable. The closet frat boys are all probably dressed like construction workers or bikers.

Still letting the thought of optimism sink in from the metaphoric embrace of the Sox not losing. I don’t know. It kind of messes up 40 years of, “yeah, well we tried, what are you going to do?” behavior.

Now I’ll just concentrate on not jinxing the future president.

Meanwhile, come on down to Toast in Union Square, Somerville. It’s brought to you by the Somerville News and their Friday night series, and it should be tons of fun with the low, low cover price of zero dollars (that’s $0 U.S.). Thanks to Baratundefor booking me and let’s hope his medical ailments don’t keep him down too long. (We got an election to win.)

With a line-up like this one, what could go wrong?

Host: Erin K. Judge

Korte Yeo
Dee-Rob
Tim Fenn

I’ll be doing a long-ish set (actually to mess up Tim and Erin, maybe even longer) and we’ll all get to discover the answer to what kind of wind does the old gal have.

The picture below is bad phone camera bullshit of the total eclipse of the moon.

Yeah, the Red Sox take the series and the planets align, and the moon is shadowed by darkness. What the fuck is next?

In my lifetime, I have seen Halley’s Comet (from a prime site on Barbados). I have seen Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons and most of the Rockies and Crater Lake and “Evita” in its London run, the Mona Lisa, the Thinker, a Gutenberg Bible and the Ramones in a college gym. Awesome sights, ones that make you wonder how shit all comes together. But, the Red Sox winning a Series in a SWEEP, no fucking way?

Nothing prepared me for this metaphor. What do I do?

While watching “Dog” (warning obnoxious theme song), I realized something. I will never repeatedly call the man in my life “Big Daddy.” It’s creepy and annoying, especially when uttered about 10 times in a minute.

Sorry, Big Daddy M., I guess I’ll be using your name.

While not watching baseball or performing comedy this week, I dedicated myself to shredding. In all, just shy of a decade’s worth of old bank and investment statements, pay stubs and once important papers that had outlived their useful lives.

Here’s my living room as the sorting began and the shredding was a far off goal. Several boxes had been empty and every surface is coated.

Here’s the after shot (poorly lit). Six large, grocery bags of confetti and the empty boxes stacked up. I’m still working on what will ultimately get packed and what tossed. But, taking those six bags to the curb tomorrow night for recycling will make a dent.

Here’s a similar shot with the flash (D’Oh!)

Sunday evening I walked around Fenway Park before Game 2 and took pictures.

Mostly, I took pictures of the security. Unbelievable.

I thought the number of cops during the Democratic National Convention was noteable. That security seemed low key and relaxed compared to what was around Fenway. Lots of paramilitary looking, high-booted men with belt-loads of plastic handcuffs. I only saw a few of the basic blue city police force, and I noticed only one woman among them.

At the DNC, the city police were everywhere and relative to Fenway, the diversity of gender and race meant they were a friendly face for the city.

The Red Sox jamming the Yankees. Now, three games taken over the Cardinals. It seems so very possible, this idea of winning.

And, in the midst of the national games, M. calls. He spent the day at a seminar, in which they gave away an IBM Thinkpad. The winner? M., the man, the winner.

Unfuckingbelievable. Can I cross my fingers and hope and dream that the colossal embarrassment of a leader, GWB, may very well be unseated?

Anything is possible in this the best of all possible worlds.

Something seemed to be going on where my menu on the right would just disappear. I narrowed it down to something to do with the poll, but I couldn’t figure out how to fix its PHP versus the weblog’s. Ah well, I just ain’t no stinking programmer.

I found a better looking poll instead. (Actually, I tested three or so polls and then just stopped.)

Meanwhile, I’ve been watching baseball, making some appointments and shredding, shredding, shredding. I’ve gone through every single scrap of paper in my house, and I’m throwing everything (almost) away. Once my living room doesn’t look like an explosion at a paper warehouse, I’ll post a before and after. Right now, it’s just to fucking frightening.

If I were a giant hamster, I would have a happy nest. As a grown human, it’s more psychotic than nest-y.

In the karma wheel of life, I have some mixed feelings today. Apparently, my dental poisoning was the catalyst for the assistant chick’s heave ho. I called to follow up on getting the crown finished. (it just don’t feel right half done.) And, in the when it rains/pours column, since the poisoning, another chunk of formally living enamel cracked off another boulder of silver amalgam holding my mouth together. So, the side I was newly favoring to make up for the half-done crown is now sensitive to cold, heat, movement, light, sound, political upheaval, wind, joy, autumn, the tides, hope, despair. I’ve been mainlining Sensodyne.

Because much as I love a warm bowl of oatmeal, I decided I had to call them back. I called the office, and at first a younger woman answered the phone and started taking the information. I gave my name and said I was looking to have my crown finished. She put me on hold. There was a bit of a wait, and an older woman got on the line to tell me that they shitcanned the suction failing assistant and they really had hoped I would call back, return and let them not poison me anymore.

While I do think saying that you know how to assist a dentist but not revving the suck wand up like an amateur and then acting rather unaffected by the chick retching up burning saliva and bile right next to you might indicate some work deficiencies, I’m not psyched to be a party to a firing. Maybe if I weren’t so close to the job loss thang, I might embrace the justice a tad more.

Really, though, I think she should have at least said good night when she left the night of the poisoning. I think I would be cordial to my victims.