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A milestone tonight as Wesley Clark drops out of the race for the Democratic nomination, thereby reducing the field to half of its original strength; Bob Graham, Carol Moseley-Braun, Richard Gephardt and Joe Lieberman welcome this latest casualty to the Losers' Lounge with open arms and a few rounds of "I told you so"s. (And speaking of Moseley-Braun, she made a surprisingly strong showing in the Michigan caucus over the weekend despite having formally dropped out the race more than two weeks previously.) With roughly 20% of the delegates now assigned, the field stands at Kerry, Edwards, Dean, Sharpton and Kucinich; can any of our spunky little asterisks still catch up to the media's Golden Boy? Whatever happens in the actual races, one would hope that at least one other candidate can hang on to harass Kerry for a few more weeks yet, if only for the sake of the press's love of a horse-race scenario -- once the race is statistically won, they'll all rush back into wall-to-wall coverage of Michael/Kobe/Martha, and god knows I'd rather watch political coverage than any more of that rubbish.
A milestone of my own to report over the weekend, RE one of those moments where you go, "God, I'm getting old, aren't I"; as one of the xmas presents from the Relations turned out not to fit, we took it back to exchange it on Saturday, and I ended up making the drearily utilitarian decision to spend the store-credit in the socks-and-underwear category instead. Specifically, on a new bra, and not even a titillating push-up Janet Jackson Special, either, but a workmanlike lycra "you two aren't going anywhere" sports bra, which is the sort of thing that ordinarily one would cringe from if one were presented it as an xmas gift, and not for the basic reasons of poor taste in gift categories. The one concession I made to a sense of the original Giftly Intent is that it is a fetching shade of red. But even a red sports bra isn't terribly romantic, designed as it is to keep one's breasts from becoming disillusioned and wandering off in a fit of pique. (I suspect that mine would much rather be living with someone who leads a more exciting life.) Adding to the depressing circumstance of getting to an age and Life Circumstance to welcome socks-and-underwear items as gifts the further resigned acceptance of the fact that it's not as if it ever matters what sort of a bra I choose to invest in anyhow, given my continuing state of social ineptitude and gloomy basement-dwelling spinsterhood, the whole episode has left me with lingering twinges about Decrepitude And Mortality. Must finish Cover Letter so I can become less-broke and midlisted...
Downstairs door still sticking in ice. Water to be off "for necessary repairs" yet again tomorrow; hopefully they'll think to bring salt and an ice-axe....
A milestone of my own to report over the weekend, RE one of those moments where you go, "God, I'm getting old, aren't I"; as one of the xmas presents from the Relations turned out not to fit, we took it back to exchange it on Saturday, and I ended up making the drearily utilitarian decision to spend the store-credit in the socks-and-underwear category instead. Specifically, on a new bra, and not even a titillating push-up Janet Jackson Special, either, but a workmanlike lycra "you two aren't going anywhere" sports bra, which is the sort of thing that ordinarily one would cringe from if one were presented it as an xmas gift, and not for the basic reasons of poor taste in gift categories. The one concession I made to a sense of the original Giftly Intent is that it is a fetching shade of red. But even a red sports bra isn't terribly romantic, designed as it is to keep one's breasts from becoming disillusioned and wandering off in a fit of pique. (I suspect that mine would much rather be living with someone who leads a more exciting life.) Adding to the depressing circumstance of getting to an age and Life Circumstance to welcome socks-and-underwear items as gifts the further resigned acceptance of the fact that it's not as if it ever matters what sort of a bra I choose to invest in anyhow, given my continuing state of social ineptitude and gloomy basement-dwelling spinsterhood, the whole episode has left me with lingering twinges about Decrepitude And Mortality. Must finish Cover Letter so I can become less-broke and midlisted...
Downstairs door still sticking in ice. Water to be off "for necessary repairs" yet again tomorrow; hopefully they'll think to bring salt and an ice-axe....