"Not to mention that Barack would never know how to split one of those Bloomberg Onions."

Three quick swings. Maya's doing great - thriving, learning small engine repair, saving small spiders whenever her Mom freaks out at their presence. But a comment from yesterday must be preserved. Maya loves the FoodNetwork. LOVES it. Her standard line in the kitchen is "let's watch a cook" just before she gets up on the counter and messes with whatever sort of actual prep I've got underway. I try to then mute the commercials, partly because Maya always says "I want to watch another cook" and partly because I hate capitalism amidst food porn purism. Yet the point of the story was a small window of commercialism that Maya caught and the follow up. A GEICO commercial. Maya's reaction as I turned away from the cutting board - "I didn't know lizards could talk?" My reaction - "well, it's actually a gecko and if you helped Daddy more around the house, they might." This morning, Maya detailed the Volvo.

Worst political story of the day - Mark Penn (that horrendous bag of glop that had been Hillary's top strategist and solitary pollster) has given a must read interview to GQ. Must read if you must read every piece of crap out there trying to justify incredible hulking incompetence. Penn's main point - he wanted to attack Obama before it wasn't cool. Oh, and I think he also said that Katrina and vagina rhymed and should be used in a campaign song. That guy's BRILLIANT!

Turdly, nobody can doubt the import of the Supremes ruling today that Gitmo detainees can appeal via American civilian courts. Chief Justice Roberts has shown just what sort of jib he's got on under his robes (hint: worst lynching costume EVER). And Justice Kennedy continues to delicately parade his transformation (hint: we still have some laws on the books, right?). Fascinating scrum. I'd love to hang out with David Brooks at Applebee's and discuss it all over a working class plate of greens sometime soon.

Hope your own salad bar today is heavy on the bar, light on the salad. Rock on.

The Rush to the ballot booth?

Without my usual prior notice to anyone checking in, we're on the road again. My apologies to the NSA for not calling. This time we're doing another couple days of work thingie for Sarah in Minnysoda. Downtown Minneapolis, to be specific. Although I was enjoyably forced to take the bus way up to Roseville this morning to get another waterproof layer at the local REI which is oddly placed in the industrial-ish hinterlands. Now I'm taking a late lunch break at ancient yet unchanged Big 10 Subs near my undergrad college campus. I think I still have a few of these greasy things stuck in my colon from the early 90s. At least this time it will be a half turkey, no mayo.

Two quickie campaign stories - USAToday does some early legwork on the surprising spike in new voter registration in the remaining Democratic Primary states. My bet? A whole bunch of Rush Limbaugh-inspired switch-overs looking to unscrupulously vote for Hillary. It ain't over folks. Well - it's actually over. Yet certain overanalyzed misdirection still lies before us. Ah, democracy. Love it or leave it.

Also, Dubya appears to be prepping to add to Mark Penn and Hillary's woes on the subject of an utterly unimportant Columbian free trade agreement. Just imagine if Bush the Elder had introduced a Columbian trade deal during his struggles to define his own still unresolved endless struggle (War on Drugs, anyone)? Dubya really has been a prick of a son. Certainly less than he has been a sonofaprick. But I digress - Mark Penn got bounced from Hillary's campaign for meeting just LAST WEEK with the Columbians. I envision him doing so at Tony Montana's disco in "Scarface" with a hooker on his lap and an aide that looks amazingly like Robert Loggia taking notes in a pile of cocaine on the glass table before them. Well, now it appears that Dubya's going to try to force Congress to vote within 90 days on his proposed deal. McCain supports, Obama doesn't, Hillary doesn't, Mark Penn makes it one of those tabloid dealiebobbers, doncha know. As I said, what a prick of a son.

Time to head onto other things. Hope your own college reunion tours today feature more foie gras, less wilted lettuce. Rock on.