"It was better than coating snowballs with Mom and throwing her at the sidelines."

Seymour Hersh's Iraq/Bushies coverage for "The New Yorker" has reached a platform that any news at all from him merits attention. Nothing HUGE in his latest Dubya shakedown this week - focuses on his self-perceived "divine mission" in Iraq. Startling, nonetheless. But much more disturbing is the insight provided by anonymous Generals that will speak to only Sy saying that they're entirely pessimistic and underequipped. Worthwhile reading for those of you that give a rip about your country.

Randy "Duke" Cunningham broke down yesterday like a disgraced sorority sister who'd embezzled all the proceeds from an annual wet t-shirt contest to spend on a full set of American Doll collectibles. The Dukester was disgraced by pleading guilty to taking $2.4M in bribes. By being forced to eat his own past defenses. And by losing essentially everything in the process. For a big fat GOP hawk with a reputation as a flyboy that some claim was the basis for the homoerotic cheese-arama movie "Top Gun", having the news break that he'll need to forfeit his fancy antique French furniture probably hurts worse. Included is a 19th Century crapper (valued at $7200). The Dukester's District in San Diego is solidly Republican, but I can already imagine the ads that one could flush out of this story.

Dubya's trying to change the subject from his full-blanketing of bad newsiness to...immigration policy? It's obvious that the Bushies think we're all incredibly stupid and easily distracted. And many of their friends have already taken the bait and written front-page stories and ominous editorials about our "broken borders" or whatever Frank Luntz-quality talking point they've agreed to use. Is immigration a problem? Sure. But I smell a dusted-off speech being chosen thanks to desperate polling by the Bushies over the TurkeyDay holiday.

About the only moment of real excitement in the Packers' latest horrid loss to the Philly Iggles on Sunday was when a goofball ran to the 30-yard line and laid down spread-eagle. Now it turns out he was spreading his cremated Mother's remains. Some futile, ballsy gestures can be sweet. These people are just cracked.

Back home in SF, Maya's already testing the childproofishness of our apartment. This whole full crawling mobility thing has its downside, I'm sure. Her Highness is now calling for assistance in her crib after a delightful early morning nap (after waking up at 5am). She's such a freakin' good kid. Hope all your own cabinets are locked up tight. Rock on.