Here’s my new routine, debate style. Fire up my computer, fire up the TV, Twitter, watch, watch CurrentTV, read political weblogs, watch videos on people’s weblogs and twitters, watch CNN, watch MSNBC, slip in Lehrer if M. leaves the room and remote, watch more, read more.
I’m on information overload. I even read Maureen Dowd today. I normally don’t dig her schtick much, but I think we all need to remember her closer, “True mavericks don’t brand themselves.”
Although, that might presuppose those guys using a dictionary. Amusingly, my latest read in the weblogosphere, because it’s going to be my hometown news, threw out this post and link. Apparently the actual Mavericks, the descendants, are going for Obama and hating on the misuse of the family legacy.
Man, oh fucking man. Today was one of those days when shit didn’t stop and a late start meant I wasn’t no never catching up.
My own damn fault on the late start, too. I woke up the same time as usual, but I had left my car at work and had to hoof it. A ten minute ride is a lot shorter than a 45 minute walk
The plus side (and it’s delusional) is I haven’t yet talked to anyone impressed by old Sarah Palin. The delusion part is due to my chunk of the United States being about non-wedge, non-swing as you can get. I’m pretty sure when the ballots are counted the Bay Area just might swing left.
We need a summer place in Toledo, so we could vote where it might matter.
We’re maybe kind of sort of closer to deciding whether to buy a house. We’re getting in real tight to the rental/mortgage break even point. Better yet, thanks to fucked up corporate greed and mismanagement in housing, the now government owned Fannie and Freddie, we’re looking at the possibility of a measly 5-6% interest rate.
Holy smokes. This might be the second time in my life I might ride the misery left behind in a Republican Bush presidency into personal success. Holy Fuck. I hope that does mean I have to join the GOP.
I definitely should have my head on the old pillow now. Especially as I need to rise and shine all early like to walk to work, not because I think my walking will help our slow slide to Armageddon. Nope, the Rapture, she’s a coming or Peak Oil or food shortages. Name your favorite hell.
Nah, M. and I had an appointment with the real estate agent, who was walking us through everything in case we get a hankering for offer making and don’t want to get hung up. He picked me up, and I’m sans a four-wheeled vehicle. (Don’t get me started on my scooter woes.)
We are close to thinking about an offer. It’s a 50+ year-old place, but it was gutted and completely remodeled before going on sale.
The backstory is the daughter is selling off the house from the estate and had the work done in order to sell. Hmm. Imagine a parent letting a house go enough you’d have to remodel to sell. Why, yes, yes I can imagine that. (I really do kind of think it was a lucky break that Pat set her house ablaze. It meant she could live a while in a nice place once the insurance was done transforming it from a serious fixer upper to a stylish abode.)
I feel better about an estate sale (well not in the sense of joy at someone’s “passing,” as they say). It’s just that I was feel all happy inside that mortgage interest rates are plummeting, and that’s only because of all of the misery out there in the world. Other people’s inescapable mortgage problems, including the Fed, might be our sunshine beach cottage.
Until I asked him to stop, M. was watching the History Channel’s 102 minutes of raw video from 9/11, which felt more like 201 minutes. It was compelling, but horrible and kind of weird and surreal and repetitive. I’m not sure repeated viewings of bad things at different angles doesn’t just make you kind of comfortably numb. I started to crack.
But the point of all of this meandering is in the end, I got to watch some of the candidate’s forum while OD’ing on political weblogs and twitters. I am just completely dumfounded and uncomprehending on how this election went from slam dunk to clusterfuck for the Democrats.
Of course, I never did sort out how 2004 happened. Why listen to me, though. There are celebrities.
Craig Ferguson gets my vote (see that little joke I slid in there). It’s pretty tragic that the folks left with the passion for democracy are the immigrants. And, you know, Lou Dobbs et al. Sad. Ironic.
Ah, Pam Anderson. She has tits and a vocabulary. Guess she’s not a card-carrying member of the GOP, or one of the aging white career women they keep polling. (See there, another sly joke, Pam Anderson and polling. Wink.)
No joke for Matt Damon. How did we never meet in Cambridge? Why are you not mine to campaign with Matt? Absurd is correct.
