I was going to do a post about how Scooter Libby is obviously a patsy and we're just supposed to forget the actual crime that was committed (the ousting of CIA Agent Plame) but then I realized that anyone with two brain cells to rub together had figured that out already. Never mind, sorry to bother you.
The lovely & talented Isay has asked me to do a post about who I want to be president. I promised her I'd do it two weeks ago, but I kept putting it off because I simply don't want any of the blithering nincompoops that we're being offered, and I can't even think of anyone who is not being offered. I was impressed with Senator Jim Webb's rebuttal to President Bush's State of the Union address, but that's really all I know about him. I've admired Colin Powell since my army days, but he has the common sense not to run. We all accept it as a fact of life that we choose "the person who's going to do the least damage." So be it. I'd be apathetic if I could find the energy. Sorry, hon. Maybe we're better off with the old man in the shack with his cat at the end of Douglass Adams' The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.
Nothing much is going on over here. Mandy's latest bit of adorableness is dancing with her stuffed animals to the ballroom scene in The Great Muppet Caper. Joe, now actually paying attention (I'm sure we fathers all have the same criticisms of our kids) is really starting to pick up with his chess playing. Jen is still a beautiful angel, and after at least a decade I'm starting to play classical guitar again. (I have a work-related problem with my left fingers, but I've just decided to sally forth.)
Hope all is well out there.