Sunday Roundup

—I voted Saturday. And if the hour long line I stood in is any indication (and yes, I am assuming that the majority of African Americans will be casting their vote for Obama) then the man is going to win in a walk. And if he doesn't win, it will be because something nefarious has been pulled and there will be thousands of unhappy people who will not take the news lightly.

—John McCain appeared on "Meet the Press" this morning. Brokaw asked him about his endorsements and he mentioned the five former secretaries of state that gave him the nod. that have given him the nod. Except he couldn't remember one of their name and when I just looked up his endorsements, I only found four—Schultz, Haig, Eagleburger, Kissenger. So either he has forgotten one or made one up. Yep, time to go back to Arizona McGrumpy.

—I love David Sedaris. Anybody that can make me laugh out loud reading is a plus in my book. And let's face it, there are many funny things about growing up in the South, some funny ha-ha and some funny painful (I can only imagine how that is multiplied by growing up gay in the South). So for Sedaris to have emerged and be able to laugh about it, is quite a feat. Here's a bit I liked from a recent essay he did for The New Yorker (and yes I am once again going to give my undecided brethern a poke).

I look at these people and can’t quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention?

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

I mean, really, what’s to be confused about?

New York State of Mind

Ah, a little reference to Billy Joel. Not a bad way to start off the morning if I do say so. I've been thinking about this whole wooha over the cover of the latest issue of The New Yorker, where Obama is depicted as a muslim and his wife as some sort of Black Panther militant.

Everyone is all in a tizzy over it. Part of me gets why—the "smart" media is concerned that the average American won't get the point The New Yorker is making. Well some won't, that I don't doubt, but then again something tells me those people don't regularly come in contact with The New Yorker anyway. Hell! I don't read The New Yorker—not enough pictures;)—but don't use me as a litmus.

I kind of thought it was all a bit much, but then this morning I read something on Salon that made me really think that. Gary Kamiya wrote about the kerfuffle (!) and referenced Rush Limbaugh's old comment about liberal's losing their sense of humor. Sadly I am starting to think that may be the truth. There have been other things on Salon lately that illustrate that point as well. 

On the site's War Room, Alex Koppelman sites a quote from a writer for The Atlantic about our level of outrage over everything (God knows I am guilty of losing my mind over the littlest thing) being off the charts. But then several writers on the site, including editor Joan Walsh, took Obama and Bernie Mac to task. Obama for having Mac speak at an event and Mac for doing some sexist jokes.

A comedian is going to tell jokes. And today, most of what people find humor in is putting others down. Maybe that isn't right. But for now it is what amuses us. Perhaps one day mother-in-law jokes will come back in. Who knows. But I do wonder if our nation, liberals and conservatives, are having a hard time finding the punchline these days.

Subconscious Musings

Sad, but true gentle readers, even my subconscious veers into the political. Yesterday, I read this great article from The New Yorker about Keith Olbermann. It is a long piece, but I enjoyed it and it must have planted the man in my head because last night I dreamt I was hitting on him in some apartment as we were putting away groceries. Later in the same dream, Tim Russert appeared, we had a conversation and when he left I said, 'Bye Uncle Pete.' In my dream as soon as I said that I knew that his name wasn't Pete, it was Tim. And of course I don't really have an Uncle Pete. Random.

I am not a dream expert, but I do think this is a rather curious one.