Sunday, November 28, 2004

Sad news.

I hate to have to put this out there like this, but since this is the way I communicate with a lot of you these days, I figured it would be at least efficient if not personal. My stepfather, Roy, passed away this morning at 6:56am. As you know, he'd been in the hospital since his June 21st surgery to repair an aneurism on his aorta. The "recuperation" period (if you can call it that) had been a horrible ordeal on his body, and his mind, and my mother was swept up into it all. Now that maelstrom is over. Roy is at peace and the struggle has finished. He was a very decent man who loved my mother intensely and who treated me even better than he did his own kids. He was a funny guy--downright goofy at times--who loved nothing more than a good, hearty laugh. I will miss his presence very much.
I am throwing some stuff in a bag and heading for home in the next couple of hours so that I can be with my mom. She seems a little numb on the phone. I know she's going to be surrounded by his kids, his brothers, etc. I think she needs my help, even if she'd never ask for it.
So goes the emotional roller coaster that is my life...

Friday, November 26, 2004

What a difference a week makes.

Happy F.A.T Day eveyone! (the Friday After Thanksgiving). It's been a week since my last post, so I guess I'll go backwards.

It's nearly 2 pm, and I'm still in my pajamas. Not hungover. Just lazy. The U.T. game comes on in a bit, and I guess I'll sit my big ass on the couch and watch it. Or maybe not. I'm sort of brain dead for no apparent reason. I have no Thanksgiving leftovers (damnit), so of course, I'm craving a turkey sandwich and some stuffing more than you can imagine. And a bloody mary. I could handle one of those. But the reality of it is that I'll most likely have popcorn and a beer or two. Lame City, U.S.A.

Mom got here about 3:30 on Wednesday. Man, was it good to see her. She brought a bunch of old photos of my grandmother's she'd discovered when her stepfather passed away a couple of weeks ago. My mom and her sisters went over to his house to clean out the little bit of stuff of my grandmother's that remained there (she died in 1999), and found this big bunch of photos from their childhood, most of which I'd never laid eyes on. We went through them, and they're so wonderful. My grandmother was a stone cold fox in the forties. My grandfather was very handsome. And my mom was simply adorable as a child. It was so nice to look through them with her. We went to an early dinner and then watched "Elf," which neither one of us had ever seen. Very funny. Will Ferrel is such a ginormous goofball. Just thinking about him makes me smile.
Thanksgiving lunch at the Driskill was pretty damn sweet. They had this amazing "buffet room" set up next to the mezzanine where all the dining tables were set up. Tons of salads, meats, sides and desserts to choose from. I think the best thing I had was this miniature apple struedel pie. It just tasted like the holidays. We ate until we were blue in the face.
Mom kept getting calls on her cell phone from the nursing home that Roy has been moved into. They moved him on Tuesday, so he has been even more disoriented and aggitated than usual. Mom had hoped to stay until tomorrow (Saturday), but decided to leave today when she got a call last night that Roy had tried to get out of bed and walk on his own (something he hasn't been able to do in 5 months). He'd fallen and was banged up. And they were having difficulty getting his ventilator hooked up. So she left really early this morning to get home and see about him. I'm upset that our time together was so short, but I understand her wanting to go take care of things. Such is our lives now.

The trip to Las Vegas was fun, but pretty low key. The weather was cold and rainy most of the time we were there. We casino hopped, gambled, drank, ate, shopped and people watched. We didn't go to the Liberace museum (dang it), but we had a full couple of days of going and doing. We ate some good food: RA Sushi and Zefferino's were the two best. And I lost every cent I took to gamble with, which sucks. I even hit the ATM machine...twice...thinking, "surely my luck is going to change," but alas, it didn't. Even though I tried slots, craps and roulette, at a variety of casinos (everything from the Bellagio to the Frontier) nothing was working for me. Oh, and we saw 9 brides cruising around in their wedding gowns during our trip. Very surreal.

Well, it's on. My flight to Vladivostok is booked. My travel Visa application is in D.C. I leave for Russia on December 12th--a little over two weeks away. To say that I'm freaking out is the biggest understatement ever. I am on an emotional roller coaster like I've never experienced--one minute, excited beyond belief, the next, crying because I'm so terrified. I can't believe I'm having to take this trip by myself. I'm not sleeping worth a damn, and my stomach is constantly upset. I know it's all going to be worth it...a real character experience I'll never forget. But still. I'm losing my mind with all of the preparation that has to be made for this trip, and then once I get back, the preparaton for the baby's arrival. It's like super-turbo-hyper pregnancy.
My God, I can't wait to lay eyes on her.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Thing I love about Austin, #412

The Four Seasons (restaurant AND bar).
Today I went to lunch at the Four Seasons. This is only the 2nd time I've ever actually eaten at the Four Seasons. Both times have been work-related celebration-type lunch things. Anyhoo, the first time I went to the Four Seasons for lunch, I discovered the perfect glass of iced tea. Oh my God, do these people know how to do tea.
Let me just say that a bad glass of iced tea is just lame. I mean, it's not a difficult beverage to master. But put me in your average restaurant where they give you tea in a) too small of a glass, b) with too much ice, and c) fill you up either too frequently or not enough, and it can practically ruin a meal. But at the Four Seasons, I swear, they teach an "Iced Tea Preparation and Service 101" class. to all their staff It's kind of amazing.
The secret? The ice cubes are made out of frozen tea. That's right kids: NO DILUTION OF YUMMY TEA MAGIC! It's solid. It's strong. It's awesome.
Also: no sugar, or Equal, or Splenda or any such shit on the table. Instead: a small carafe of "simple syrup" a.k.a. sugar water is on a saucer surrounded by lemon slices. You know simple sugar, right? You make mojitos with it...your mom put in your bottle to get you to shut the hell up when you were teething... Yeah, SUGAR WATER! What you do is pour some sugar water in your X-treme iced tea, and you are so happy, it's not even funny.
And then, they don't fill you up again until you're ready. I'm sorry, but there are few things more stupid and more unnecessary than some well-meaning waitstaff person topping off your perfectly-formulated iced tea every time you drink a tablespoon of it. It's just dumb.
Almost as good as the iced tea at the Four Seasons is the people watching. Today, I lunched within iced-tea-cube-chunking distance from St. Ann (a.k.a., Ann Richards). Man, that's one cool old broad. I want her to adopt me as my grandma. But it was enough to just be within earshot of her raspy Texas voice. Richards for President, '08!
The bar at the Four Seasons is a trip. I've skipped out on work there with my boss (her idea..."They've got those cute little tonic bottles for your gin and tonics!"), watched the Congress Ave. bats in the sunset, run up a 4-figure bar tab (not by myself, mind you), been hit on by the father-of-a-bride whose wife and daughter were sloshed within 2 feet of us, and chatted it up with Mickey "I used to be hot, but now I'm kind of scary" Rourke at that bar. It fucking rocks...on a limited basis.

Currently listening to:
Songs: Ohia
Golden Palominos
Neil Halstead
Jill Scott

Friday, November 19, 2004

Buckle up. It's going to be a wild ride!

Tomorrow, I'm going to Vegas for a long weekend. Hallelujah! I can almost hear the dice hitting the felt on the craps table as I type this. I'm going with friends, and we're going to the spa and eating at fancy restaurants and doing a hell of a lot of people watching. And if I have any say in the matter, we WILL be going to the Liberace Museum. FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABULOUS!
And then I'm taking the rest of the week off for Thanksgiving, etc. I haven't taken a whole week off of work just for fun in over four years. Four freakin' years!
My mom's actually going to tear herself away from the depressing confines of the hospital to come and spend Thanksgiving with me. We're going to eat lunch at the swanky Driskill Hotel (and I'm bringing a couple of my orphan friends with me), and then sit around and groan about how full we are.
But then the crazy shit begins.
You see, I am adopting a baby girl from Russia. I started the process in earnest last April, after much soul searching and being scared to death about the whole idea of it. But then I realized that my fear of the unknown was paralyzing me, and I decided I didn't want to live that way. So I went for it--submitted my application, started down the looooooooong and expensive paperwork trail, and yesterday, I got the call: "We've got a referral for you. A little girl. 5 1/2 months old." The long and short of it is that I'll be going over to Russia--Vladivostok--in the next few weeks to meet her. Oh my GOD!! All of these months of thinking about this whole adoption thing in a very abstract way, and now, it's about to be a reality.
I want to see her face, feel her skin. I want to hold her and look into her eyes. I cannot believe that this is really happening. I'm going to be an emotional basket case for the next few weeks.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Now why didn't I think of that?

Last night I got taken to this event at the Alamo Drafthouse that was for "Found" magazine. I knew nothing about the magazine or the event. What a nice surprise!

The basic idea behind the magazine is that people send the editors stuff that they find--letters, grocery lists, photos, drawings, post-it notes, report name it--and they publish them in a collection. The results can be bizarre, touching, funny or sad. Or sometimes all of the above.

At the Alamo event, the "Found" guys got up and presented some of their favorite finds, and then invited the audience to come up and share some of the weird stuff they'd found. It was cool. They're touring around the country--they've got 25 more cities to go in the next 26 days. You should check them out if they come to your hood. In the meantime, you can check 'em out at

And keep your eyes open. You never know what you might find...

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Anna Nicole does Texas proud, again.

There's something fascinating about watching a trainwreck. I saw some footage of Anna Nicole Smith at last Sunday's "American Music Awards" ceremony, and she was so fucked up, slurring, and gorgeous that it was just mesmerizing. I mean, she's always been sort of a larger-than-life (literally) cartoon character--From her gorgeous, Guess/Playboy days to her bloated ridiculousness during the "marriage" to that "Mr. Burns" type billionaire, to her boozy, super embarrassing turn as the star of her own reality show and, most recently, as spokesmodel/success story for TrimSpa diet aid pills.
Granted, no one has ever accused Miss Smith of being a rocket scientist. But does she really think we're going to buy it when she says that the reason she had to be held up by two bodygaurds in order to walk after her AMA appearance was due to the fact that she'd had a particularly grueling workout with her personal trainer earlier that day? Oh really? And the moon is made of cheese? Awesome!
During her introduction of Kayne West Anna Nicole was less coherent than Kirk Douglas was that time he appeared on the Oscars a little too soon after his massive stroke. I felt sorry for Mr. Douglas. I was just cringing for Anna Nicole. Big time.
And she swears she's not on anything or drunk. Well then, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, ANNA?! You were slurring like you'd had 6 shots of novacaine in your tongue right before you stumbled on to the stage. And then you said, "Do you like my boooooooooooooooodddddddyy?" At least I think that's what you said. Yes, you look great, honey. Skinnier than I've ever seen you before. But you should really see someone about stroke you apparently had some time recently. It's really doing a number on you.

P.S. Don't you just know we're going to be hearing something in the future from her poor son, Daniel? Think about how much your mom used to embarrass you when you were a teenager. And it would be for something stupid, like wearing two different shades of navy or ordering milk to eat with her dinner at Chili's. Can you imagine growing up with Anna Nicole as your mom? Jesus. Poor kid...

Monday, November 15, 2004

Getting old sucks.

It's a gloomy, rainy Monday. So why not have a gloomy posting, eh?
On June 21st, my stepfather Roy had surgery in Houston to repair an aneurism on his aorta, just below his heart. Going in to this, we knew that the sugery was going to be very serious and that his recuperation process was going to be quite lengthy and difficult. We also knew that Roy's health was not the best: He was 70, but seemed 80. Had had two previous heart attacks in the past 10 years. Had had surgery to repair another aneurism on his aorta (near his stomach) in the early 90s. And had early-stage emphysema due to a lifetime of smoking (he'd finally quit after his second heart attack, five years prior). So, due to his age and his compromised physical state, this already intense surgery could prove to be more risky than normal. So we were scared.
But the surgery went off without a hitch. The thinking was that he'd be in ICU for 5 or 6 days and then in the hospital for another 8 to 10, and then home for a long rehabilitation process--roughly 4 to 6 weeks.
Well my friends, things didn't go as planned. Long story short: he's still in the hospital. That's right: in five months, he hasn't been out of the bed. Hasn't showered. Hasn't stood on his own. Hasn't pissed on his own. He is unable to breathe on his own withouth a great deal of effort, and has to be on a ventilator, breathing through a tracheotomy in his throat, at least 12 hours a day. Doctor's fear he will never be able to be weaned off of the ventilator due to the state of his lungs (remember the emphysema I mentioned?). Oh yeah, and he's got significant, permanent brain damage due to either a lack of oxygen to the brain, a lack of blood flow to the brain or some combination thereof. He doesn't know who my mom is. He hallucinates. He can't read or write. He has trouble controling his own bowels and can't feed himself. In other words, he's fucked.
This is a guy who, up until his day of surgery, was a contributing member of society: running his own business for 40+ years, married to my mom for 26 years, a father, stepfather and grandfather. Now, he's a like a helpless child. And my mom is by his side for 8 to 12 hours a day, trying to understand his ramblings and clean up his messes. His kids rarely come to visit. His business associates' visits have trickled off. The bills keep piling up and he will never, ever get any better than he is right this second.
My mom is devastated and exhausted. She's held out hope for months that this situation would get better--at least slightly. It has been horrible watching her hope and optimism erode as day after day has passed.
This week they're planning on moving him from the hospital to a nursing home. From one bed to another. From treatment to maintenance. There is no end to this ordeal in sight.
If this were 50 years ago, the aneurism on his aorta would've eventually burst and Roy would've dropped dead. But because the technology now exists, we can now have surgery to repair an aneurism and extend somebody's life by years...or decades. But his life is ostensibly over. My mom's life is over in a lot of ways because she is his caretaker. So in trying to extend this 70-year-old-in-poor-health's life by 5 or 6 years, two lives have been devastated, their finances are being eviscerated, and those who love these people are severely affected as well.
After living a full, productive life, what a crappy way to go out.

Friday, November 12, 2004

Saw this while at lunch today. I assume that "Spare 2" is meant to let us know that they've got another Hummer at home. Their plates should read, "I Suck." Posted by Hello

HRH Ellen.  Posted by Hello

Just call me "Elaine."

For those of you who were ever "Seinfeld" fans, you'll recall that Elaine was a chronic, neurotic dater. She would go out with a guy a few times, and then call it off when she realized that there was something so annoying about him, that it was a deal-breaker. I too have had my fair share of instances like this. In the past, I've stopped seeing various guys for the following reasons:
  • I caught him playing air public.
  • He knew way too many words to too many Limp Bizkit songs.
  • After watching "The Godfather" together, he spoke in that Marlon Brando "Gonna make him an offer he can't refuse" accent for the rest of the night.
  • He always smelled like Chinese food.
  • He made this weird whistling noise every time he breathed through his nose.
  • He didn't like cheese or vegetables (except for corn and potatoes).
  • He was a ghastly speller and never read anything except "Playboy" and "Sports Illustrated."

I'm not proud of this, mind you. I realize that dumping guys for such seemingly insignificant reasons seems shallow and bitchy. But I look at it like this: Do I really want to spend a great deal of time--years maybe--with Whistly Nose or Air Halen? I don't think so. If I'm annoyed by it after only a few dates, I would become murderous after a few years. And I really don't want to end up in the big house. "I'm sorry Your Honor. I couldn't help myself. He just kept spelling 'your' when he should've been spelling 'you're' and writing "hole" for "whole," and he kept making plurals by using apostrophe s. Don't you understand? He HAD to die!"

So I've recently been going out with this guy who, on paper, is the catch of the century. And truly, he is incredibly nice. But he mumbles. And not just a little bit. A lot. For instance, last night, he cooked dinner for me, and I was seated maybe 3 feet from him at the kitchen table, and I must've said "Huh?" "What?" "I'm sorry...what?" "Come again?" about 10 times over the course of our meal. And despite my many years of rocking out, I am NOT hard of hearing. The mumbling thing is a potential deal-breaker.
And then there's the apologizing. If he's not saying "sorry" for mumbling, then he's apologizing for something else. For instance, I asked him to pass the pepper grinder last night, and he said, "Sorry. I didn't realize you couldn't reach it." Who knew that aplogizing when it's totally unnecessary could be so grating? I've even called him on it a couple of times, by saying things like, "You know, you don't need to apologize for the pepper being too far away for me to reach it. Really, it's okay." But the sorry-ing continues. I think I'm going to have put the kibosh on this whole thing before something horrible happens.

"I'm sorry Your Honor. I realize that sticking an ice pick in his jugular was not a good idea. But after 25 years together, I still couldn't understand what he was saying. And I'd told him that if he apologized one more time, I was going to kill him..."

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Frisky weather.

This morning, it was "crisp" outside. You know, that perfect fall morning--sunny and clear, light breeze and mid-50s. It's the kind of weather that makes you want to frolic through a field. Or drink a hot chai latte. Or eat gingerbread pancakes. Sweater weather. I love it.
It was so nice, in fact, that it inspired my 14+ year old arthritic grumpy cat, Ellen, to become very, very frisky. She was running at top speed, from one end of the house to the other. To and fro. Back and forth. On the hardwood floors, it sounded like a buffalo were stampeding. She just runs, making a churdling "revving up" noise every now and then. She's 8 lbs. of lightning speed, with big green eyes. Ellen's losing her hearing. Her eyes are glazed over with cataracts. She sleeps about 23 hours a day. She's definitely in the twilight of her years. So when she gets frisky and kittenish, it makes me smile. One of these days (when I figure out how), I'll post a photo of her. But for now, hopefully the mental image of her bolting back and forth will make you smile too.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

THIS gives me nightmares.

Last night, I was on my way home, listening to our local public radio station. I'm not sure what show it was (I think it was "The World," but I wouldn't put money down on it), but they were playing this report that included interviews with this troop of Marines as they were about to invade Fallujah. The troop leader was only 25. The soldiers under his command were all younger than he was, and none of them had seen live combat before. He was describing how the Marines had gotten this green crew of soldiers prepared for the invasion. I'm paraphrasing, but here's what he said:

It's not in human nature to kill other humans, so to get the guys ready, we recently switched to lifelike targets (rather than just paper ones) during target practice. The same shape and size as real people. And we play this music while they're practicing so that it makes it more like a video game for them, and makes them more able to kill someone without really thinking about it. [While the soldiers are in battle, a Humvee with speakers mounted on it, plays heavy metal music in their midst. They speak to a young soldier who says, "As long as they keep playing this music, I can keep going."]

My God, this is terrifying. While the "moral values" folks bitch and moan stateside about the toll that violent video games are taking on our kids by desensitizing them to the damage that actual violence does, our government is purposely using the violent video game approach to make these young men numb to taking lives.

It's like saying rape is wrong unless you're really horny.

Meet me in the garden tools aisle.

It's only a matter of time before this idea hits small town U.S.A., and all of the Rebas of the world will bravely strike out to find their Tobys. And it's yet another reason that the behemoth that is Wal-Mart makes me want to vomit:
"It may not be the most romantic setting imaginable, but a Wal-Mart store in Dortmund, Germany, is attracting a new market of shoppers -- those looking for love. The store hosted its first singles shopping event last year, and the concept has become so popular that every Friday night at the store is singles night, with single shoppers identified by carts with bright red bows." (Lifted from The Wall Street Journal.)

Saturday, November 06, 2004

So sorry about your microscopic penis.

Tonight I was on my way to downtown to a wedding. (Going stag, as usual.) It was about 5;30, and I was speeding down MoPac when this big ass black truck came up beside me. It was in the lane to my right and a few feet ahead of me. The guy driving it had his window down, and he stuck his left arm out the window and gave me the "L" sign for loser. Sort of shaking it at me. See, I have two anti-Bush bumper stickers on my Jetta. And no, I haven't taken them off since the election because, guess what, I still detest Bush and his cabinet. Anyway, I just acted like I didn't see him, and so he stuck his big, meaty white head out the window, looked back at me (while driving, mind you) and did the "L" sign on his forehead. To let him know that I had, indeed, seen him, I gave him the middle finger salute and mouthed "FUCK YOU!" right at him. So what did he do? Slammed on his breaks, got behind me and tailgated me so closely that I couldn't even see the headlights on that monstrosity he was driving. I was scared to death. I mean, if I'd even tapped my breaks, he would've been in my backseat. Luckily, when I exited (which was pretty quickly), he didn't follow.

But really: What WAS this? I mean, I've got stickers that express MY opinion, on MY vehicle that I make payments on. I'm driving down the road--a woman alone in my MUCH smaller car--and this total, brainless asshole feels the need to harass me at 65 mph. And when I have the audacity to react to it, he endangers both of us by tailgating me.

Dude: In case you haven't learned because a) you don't know how to read and/or b) you've been too busy jacking off to your Toby Keith concert DVDs--YOUR GUY WON! Why in the hell are you so threatened by me expressing my freedom of speech by displaying a couple of bumper stickers on my station wagon that you've got to harass and endanger me? Let's see...white, male, bad hair cut, driving a gas-guzzling vehicle, feeling threatend by someone minding their own business who just happens to have an opinion different than yours, and then harassing them to the point where they're fearful and/or endangered...yep, sounds like a Republican to me. You've done your party proud, Jack Ass.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

Restoring your trust in humanity...

Rembember my friend Francesca? (See the 10/26/04 post if you don't.) Well her piece o'shit 1997 Dodge Neon bit the dust. What a surprise, huh?

Anyway, she needs a reliable car and doesn't have much cash to spend on it. She's shopped around for some used stuff in the classifieds and gone on some scary test drives. But tonight--she may have found The Car.

I noticed a couple of weeks ago that there was a guy on my street selling a "1987 Volvo GLE Sedan. Cool Air. Well-maintained. 140K." I told her about it, and tonight we went on a test drive. It was a phenomenally gorgeous night. He told us to "take it as long as (we) wanted to," so we did. We cranked the manual sunroof opened and went cruising around the hills of west Austin. After about 1/2 an hour, Francesca was in love with the car, and it seemed like a solid buy for the money. On the way back to the man's house, she joked, "I should just ask him if I could have it for the weekend to try it out." And guess what: when we got back, he said: "I've got to go out of town for work tomorrow, so if you just want to take it until Saturday, have it checked out by a mechanic or whatever, and then you can bring it back and we can make a deal or you can say 'thanks, but no thanks,' that's cool." He just GAVE HER THE CAR for the weekend. And all he knows about her is her cell phone number and that she's friends with someone who lives on his street.

Just when you think that all we "Ah-murh-kuhns " care about is whether or not we can own a gun, or if a couple of leathermen are kissing each other, you meet some kind, trusting soul like this guy.

Did I mention he still had a "Kerry/Edwards" sign in his yard?

God Bless Ahmurhkah.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Damn you to hell, 18 to 24 year olds!

Way to go kids! You decided that you had better things to do than vote in the most important election in a gazillion years. I guess you just couldn't put down the Red Bull and tear yourselves away from "TRL" or the latest release of "Grand Theft Auto."
Those of you that bothered to show up to vote, voted for a change to the current regime by a significant margin. Thank you. But the fact is that the same percentage of you showed up for this election as did in 2000. And that just stinks. You'd think things in the world were still the same based on your apathetic attitude toward our hard won right to vote. But, just in case you didn't know, a few things have happened in the real world in the past four years:
  • Our current President--who can't even pronounce the words "nuclear" or "Americans"--was installed by the Supreme Court after a disputed vote count in the state where his brother is governor.
  • We were attacked by terrorists on 9/11/01, and about 3,000 people died in a matter of hours.
  • We led a pre-emptive invasion of a country based on the fact that our government told us that they had "weapons of mass destuction" that were an immediate threat to the U.S. and, oops, there were no weapons of mass destruction, but that guy they installed as president still believes we're justified in being there.
  • We pissed off pretty much every ally we've ever had by our government's obsessive, unilateral march to "spread freedom" in Iraq.
  • Over 1,100 American troops--overwhelmingly made up of people in your age group--have died in Iraq. Over 70,000 have been injured. And, guess what: There is no exit strategy.
  • Genocide is occuring in Sudan--not unlike what happened in Rwanda in 1999 (Didn't we learn anything from that?)--and we really don't give a damn because there's no oil there for us to care about.
  • There's still a global AIDS crisis, but advocating safer sex through condom use is still a no-no because of our country's "moral stance".
  • "The Terminator" is now the governor of one of our most populous states, and still says stuff like "I'll be back," "Girlie men," and "Pump you up" on a regular basis. And people think that's cool.
  • Martha Stewart is in jail while Ken Lay runs free.
  • Americans are still the fattest people on the planet.

Okay. I feel better now. I guess I can get started on building that bunker in the back yard now...

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Two hours later...

Texas is doing about a 60/40 split in favor of W. Travis county, where Austin is located, is exactly the opposite, with about 60% going to Kerry. God Bless Austin.

Right now, Bush has more electoral votes, but there are several swing states that are still too close to call. But I'm picturing Bush in the White House, all cocky and smug, doing that jerky little laugh of his...sure he's got this thing wrapped up. Makes me want to punch something--preferably his monkey face.

The night slogs on...

Let the freak out begin.

It's 8:30 CST. On all of the news channels, they keep showing the "red" versus "blue" map of the states to show where Bush is winning (red) or where Kerry has won (blue). Right now, there's an awful lot of red showing. They just added Louisiana and Mississippi to the red list. I'm nervous as hell. Think I'll go take a hot shower and pop a Xanax...


It's election day. This is the fifth presidential election I've been eligible to vote in. And this is the fifth time I've cast my vote for president. That's right: I'm 5 for 5. Two times, the white guy I voted for won. One time, the white guy I voted for lost. One time, I voted for the white guy that didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning Texas, but I was trying to guarantee that, in the future, we'd have a lock on having a third party on the ballot. That didn't work out so well.

There has only been one presidential election out of the five I've voted in where I've been truly excited and inspired by the candidate I was voting for. That was in 1992--the first time Clinton ran. He had a hopefulness and exuberance that was so appealing to my 23-year old heart and mind. He seemed perfectly suited for the post-Cold War era. I couldn't wait to go to the polls to cast my vote for him. By 1996, I wasn't quite so enthusiastic...

Every other election I've voted in--including this one--I've been casting my vote AGAINST the other guy, rather than IN FAVOR OF the guy I was voting for. How sad is that? The whole "lesser of two evils" phenomenon that is national politics is so disheartening. And people wonder why it's so difficult to get Americans off their super-sized asses and into the voting booth...
So I'm nervous about how this whole thing is going to turn out. I may be moving to Canada in the very near future. More later...