November 9th

Life has all the earmarks of being good.

I'm sitting here enjoying a pan-fried honey-dijon pork loin chop, with sauteed onions, corn on the cob, fresh green salad with home-made dressing, & Earl Grey by the mugfull. I'm halfway through "Mission Impossible II" and enjoying all the John Woo touches. ICQing with Kevin, Panther, and Vamp planning out a weekend of playful decadence.

I even chatted with both my son and my dad on the phone, although it's sad that I'll be seeing Dad next week; he's coming to town for his late girlfriend's memorial service. Sorry as I am the circumstances, I'm always glad to see him.

Hazel ICQ'd me to say she'd be here to clean house before both Vamp's and my dad's visits [which took an IMMENSE load off my mind].

Hell, I even got a cheap used copy of Jarmusch's "Ghost Dog" at my local megastore.


All these things would be fine, exciting, enticing, satisfying, and all the other great words about good things, except I'm concerned about what's happening in our nation's elections right about now.

No one on any side can claim a mandate for their Presidential candidate. There is every potential right now for lawyers and pundits and all the other carrion feeders to make hay while the American public loses itself in an endless quagmire. It appears Bush may have won the Electoral College, yet Gore apparently won the popular vote. An election may be won or lost based on wide-spread voter fraud in a state governed by the baby brother of one of the candidates.

It's so bad that Patrick Buchanan- truly The Dark Angel In Brylcreme - came out today and said that there were apparently 3000 votes that were erroneously credited to him, and that they should go to Gore. If you ever wanted a sign that the end was near, don't wait for flying pigs or July blizzards - Pat Buchanan wishing a winning margin to Al Gore definitely qualifies.

Locally we're still waiting to find out if we've excreted Skelletor from office. The grating presumption of the "Slade Gorton Works For You" posters nauseates me [for the record, virtually _nothing_ that he says or does is 'for me']. His radio commercials for months have been blatant lies, his skull-like grin seems to glow in the dark, and overall he just represents the worst of entrenched politicos. It would be really nice to see him fade away, to be trotted out only on Lincoln Day banquet nights, but we may not even know if he's gone for days yet to come.


The quote from Homer that helped get me through my combat tour was "Bear patiently, my heart, for you have suffered heavier things". I know I'll come out of this funk, the nation will eventually right itself and find some sense of equilibrium, but right now the unknowns, the uncertainties, the shades of grey everywhere... I don't like it.

Life is good, and life will be good, but right now the sense of Damocles is nearly overwhelming.

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