Maya reconsiders the value of Santa Barbara's famous "Buried for the Summer" kids' beach course.

Maya reconsiders the value of Santa Barbara's famous "Buried for the Summer" kids' beach course.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

If this ain't a summery shot, I'll eat my camera.

If this ain't a summery shot, I'll eat my camera.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Holy moly. I think I see Bradgelina sunbathing topless."

"Holy moly. I think I see Bradgelina sunbathing topless."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A Square Peg in roundly fun fashion.

Contrary to most reviews that I've thus far seen, I must weigh in on last night's premiere of "Sex and the City". My rating - a somewhat generous but honest B. The only thing more rare than a big movie from Hollywood that features women over 40 looking great and talking sweet is a big movie from Hollywood making frat guys look like tender-hearted, bookish individualists. Sure, this movie could have been made 4 years ago to equal and/or more lasting effect. Sure, the absurdity of the glamour heaped upon these characters is beyond comprehension. Sure, a cynical tone would be the standard response you might expect from me. But there was something in play that I didn't expect. Something like romance. If you want to escape this summer, it appears that big-time movies offer a few options. Aside from the witty gem that is "Iron Man" this movie is a great place to find silly solace for a few hours. People that weren't fans of the HBO series be warned - it's probably not for you. Awareness of the backstory is somewhat necessary. Regardless, I recommend y'all see it in the theatres if you're on the fence before the bloom comes off the rose.

Hope your own rules committee meetings deal primarily with who gets to bring guests to the pool today. Rock on.

Do you really want this woman answering that 3am phonecall?

Let's get a few things straight. Michigan and Florida suck. They broke the rules. Even Hillary said so not so many months ago when she'd self-determined she couldn't be beat. Florida's election commission was unduly influenced by Governor Charlie Crist (a much-rumored John McCain Veep pick). Everyone aside from Hillary took their name off the Michigan ballot in protest of their cynical move to change the Dems' primaries process. Yet tomorrow we're all about to be beat about the face and ears with every imaginable argument from the Clinton camp that everything's changed now that she's losing by an everstill insurmountable margin. How is Obama dealing with this crap? He's talking foreign policy hypotheticals toe-to-toe with McCain. How's Hillary dealing? By getting blotto on her campaign plane with a much drunker bunch of cynics in the press section. I will reserve judgment until tomorrow, but I expect we'll all be appalled by how her supporters act in DC tomorrow. I'll be tuned in to C-SPAN. So you don't have to. Get outside and play.

Speaking of playing outside - NEWSFLASH! Golf is fun. I won't say that I'm refuting decades of prior denouncements. But after a few expected groaning mulligan holes yesterday, I actually settled in and got my game on while having some serious fun with our friend, Sameer. He won by a wide margin. Still, if we'd decided to play 72 holes instead of just 9, I'm pretty sure that I'd have instead won the beer I gratefully bought him. Tip to fickle fellow lovers of the links - keep your head down. Oh, and imagine Karl Rove bending over whenever you tee off.

Hope your own par scores today take into account every single swing, even if only imagined or unintended. Rock on.

Up next - Colin Powell tells us all that the vial of anthrax was from Dubya's private "forgotten" stock from those wild days

Santa Barbara is so gorgeous that I'm even slated to go play golf this afternoon. For those keeping score at home, this will be my first official outing on the links since just before my wedding. So I'm due for a killer round. Define that however you'd like. Regardless, I'm looking forward to describing my efforts soon for y'all.

While we're loving the vacation atmosphere and catching up with friends and family, DC is warming its cockles over the burning phraseologies lit by Scott McClellan's new book. Like every other pundit and unemployed Bushie, I've got an uninformed opinion to offer. Here goes - SO? Dubya's reputation is set in stone. A soggy self-cleansing weepy like McClellan's won't change a single damn thing. If this changes one single uninformed opinion of this Administration's tenure, I'll eat a Chicago Cubs hat. But, if as I expect, no one will benefit from this aside from McClellan in terms of book sales, Tucker Carlson and Karl Rove must eat a Milwaukee Brewers hat. On camera. Wearing a diaper. So the challenge is out there. Do with it what you will.

As we always love to do on vacation while ample babysitting options abound for Maya, Sarah and I have seen a few movies. Two quick reviews. "Indiana Jones and the Overwrought Pseudo-mystical Bank of Crap Metaphors" - a despicable D rating. Worst movie of the summer. It pains me to say that because I fondly remember seeing the first Indy movie in Ann Arbor with my aunt during a junior high summer and falling in love with the spectacle of this form of event movie. George Lucas is obviously insane. Again. Harrison Ford looks amazing. But if I was asked to pay to see a two-hour pilates class, I fear it might have been more compelling than this mess. Avoid it, if possible. Secondly, as we await opening night for "Sex and the City" (yes, I bought advance tickets for Sarah and me) we played catch-up by seeing "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". My rating - a fun B-minus. Definite rental quality. Better yet, hit the dollar theatres that it's surely bound for in the next month. Jason Segal is sweet, Mila Kundis is surprisingly good for anyone that struggled through the weekly torture that was "That 70s Show", the Judd Apatow cast of hilarious misfits is on its game as always. Silly fun should always be this silly.

Hope your own tee times don't require anything more than a shirt and shoes in the bag today. Rock on.

Santa Barbara beach time. Sorry that I didn't capture a shot of Sarah buried up to her neck.

Santa Barbara beach time. Sorry that I didn't capture a shot of Sarah buried up to her neck.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

We're in SB for a week, surrounded by family and fun. Expect more pics. But for the time being, here's a taste. Rock on.

"Does somebody here own a cat?"

"Does somebody here own a cat?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya and Momoo saying goodnight on our first night in Santa Barbara.

Maya and Momoo saying goodnight on our first night in Santa Barbara.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Buh-bye.

We're heading out of town for a roundly anticipated week away. Hillary Clinton's headed out of the Race, given the single stupidiest self-delusion in the history of modern politics. As if she's Hubert Humphrey after her expected upcoming assassination of Barack Obama as the reincarnation of Robert F. Kennedy. I've said it before. I'll probably not stop saying it. This woman knows no shame when it comes to the trench warfare that she - and she along with her ilk - define as fair game politics. I believe people will turn the corner on this tag.

Hope your own Memorial Day weekend ceremonies are half as well-attended as my hometown's (due props out to the Town of Hill cemetary). Rock on.

"It's the economy, stupid. Oh, and how you spend a few hundred million dollars that people gave you."

Last night's Primaries were a disgrace. A penultimate dry hump. No one was satisfied. Yet everyone's looking forward to the next date, working on their lines and hoping for a real dam breaker. But since I'd prefer to end the metaphor above all, here's my most recent take on it all. It's over. It was over a month ago, but Obama's too much of a gentleman to tell Hillary to take a seat off the stage. What do we have coming up at the Rules Committee meeting for the Dems on May 31st when they'll decide what to do with Florida and Michigan? A televised mass suicide. I'm not saying this because I've been an Obama supporter since before he entered the race or as a Clinton fan from my early 20s. I'm saying this as someone who listens to the rules as they were set before the tip-off. Please, PLEASE - let's not forget the karmic damage done to this nation via Bush v. Gore in late '00. If the Clinton camp believes they can win the nomination via rhetorical and legal manuevering, they should be ashamed of themselves. If Hillary steals the nomination, I will not only leave the Party. I'll steal some coats and wallets on my way out.

But the real story today is the money. It's a tangle to decipher, given the difference between primary and general election funds and debt versus cash on hand. CBS News has the best breakdown today, after a few other outlets (the LA Times, most notably) blew the accounting. Bottom line - Hillary's mired in massive debt ($20M) while Obama's got money in the bank ($37M) for a few months of unimpeded spending before the General funds start flipping after the Convention. The biggest surprise is how much better McCain did last month ($22M on hand). Who's most electable? Screw that straw horse argument. Recent campaigns have proven that cash wins. Using that cynical metric, Hillary's screwed.

Hope your own bottom line has enough room for a jet-ski purchase today. Rock on.

So what CAN this dope actually still do?

Dubya's galavanting through the Middle East, lobbing shots at Obama and seemingly working off the hangover from Jenna's wedding. And then today he got together with the Saudis to "encourage" them to raise oil production. Only problem - the Saudis don't listen to the Bushies anymore. As much as I think people should fixate on Dubya's horrible "Nazi appeasement" speech to the Knesset, this one's gonna resonate. In effect, gas prices are going through the roof, the allies we've spent hundreds of billions to cultivate couldn't care less, and nothing our current Prezidunt says can do anything to mitigate those facts. I don't watch oil futures on the commidities exchanges. But if I did, I'd do whatever one does to say I'm done with this whole oil thingie. It's like backpacking through Europe this summer with a handful of dollars. Poor planning.

Two quick mini-reviews. The new album from the moment's indie darling, Bon Iver, is spectacular. My brother, Jake, and one of my favorite friends of all time, Jug, both recommended him to me in April when I was back in Minneapolis. Think of a sweeter sounding, slightly-less suicidal Elliott Smith. Just beautiful music. Recorded at a cabin in Northwestern Wisconsin. Seriously. My rating - an A-minus. Too few tracks for an A-rating. Secondly on the opposite end of the spectrum, I must admit that I am a closet Kid Rock fan. If I could pick any show to sneak into this summer, it would be Kid Rock's current tour. Gimme a few 40s and a pair of mirrored aviator glasses and I'd be a pig in whatever pig's dig. Guilty pleasures sometimes are the most hilarious and authentic.

Hope your own gas tank is filled with daisies today. Rock on.

"And what's your all-time favorite Gus Van Sant movie?"

If the weatherhandicappers are to be believed, Seattle's about to heat up considerably. Highs near 90 Friday and Saturday. Today's still overcast with hopes for the 60s. I can't say that I'm looking forward to the heat. But after an especially chilly late Spring, we're certainly overdue for a hint of global warming.

Wait a minute...I'm leading with the weather? Well, it's still more interesting than dissecting West Virginia's Primary. Or the lead up to Oregon and Kentucky next Tuesday. The campaign has become so cam-painful that I'm just plain tapped out. For example, a Portland alt weekly (Willamette Week) used the opportunity to interview Barack Obama to ask what sort of tattoo he would get. He tried to respond with wit ("If a gun was put to my head?"). The interviewer persisted. Obama offered that he'd have Michelle's name "put somewhere discreet." How much you willing to bet that Hillary won't get that same question. She's more of a piercing fan, anyways. But please, America - make it stop.

Hope your own endless torture session at least features a moment of levity today. Rock on.

Losing Feith

Seeing Douglas Feith interviewed on last night's "Daily Show" was amazing on so many levels. First of all, Feith is an epic tool. That much has been obvious for years. Yet to think he would agree to be fleeced in public by such a superior mind is the best indication of his poor judgment. To hear him stumblin' bumblin' through his new book's justifications was utterly without grace. Jon Stewart outdid himself and was surely better prepped for this than any recent interview. They've posted the extended version online, and it is the essential version for anyone - either pro or con - looking to understand the thinking of the neocons with regard to the Iraq War. I will certainly never buy the book. Just like I'll never buy Rumsfeld's. I won't even steal a copy. But to hear Feith in this case synopsize, twist and dangle...well, that's just great insight. If you have 22 minutes, please check it out. And as a bonus - the ending comment from Jon about how Feith's book "makes for sloooow reading" was the best rip I've heard in ages.



West Virginia votes today. Yawn. Expect a huge Clinton rally tonight. She'll claim the "Joe-mentum" once again. Maybe even raise a half-million bucks online tonight, which she'll laud as the greatest validation of her candidacy to date. West Virginia. The future of our nation hangs in the balance and we're going to be bludgeoned for the next handful of news cycles about how a few hundred thousand voters and 28 delegates will unsettle this already settled race. Wake me up when it's over.

Hope your own book tour takes you primarily to shows like "Wake Up, Peoria!" today. Rock on.

Yours truly, riding the short horse through Jackson Square.

Yours truly, riding the short horse through Jackson Square.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Sarah snapped this shot before dinner in the French Quarter Tuesday evening. What follows are a few other choice shots from our visit to New Orleans.

My favorite ramshackle, classical, converted New Orleans mansion. Now an unintendedly ironic statement on the state of New Orleans architecture

My favorite ramshackle, classical, converted New Orleans mansion. Now a complete, ironic piece of architectural crap.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Located at the corner of Bourbon and Esplanade on the East edge of the French Quarter. Close to the coolest local bar in the area (Port of Call). I expect it almost entirely split into small apartments. But I couldn't love the gothic look of this building more even if Anne Rice made it the unembodied subject of a vampire novel.

The tradition of the JazzFest Indians. I don't know much about it. But it's cool no matter how you frame the tradition of the display.

The tradition of the JazzFest Indians. I don't know much about it. But when they march by, everyone pays attention.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Anyone who knows New Orleans knows the Indians. I won't claim to understand the traditions of the Indians. But they are astonishingly beloved and always sought out doing the circuit around the Jazz Fest fairgrounds. Like everyone else that attends, I took a few pics of my faves. Hope you enjoy seeing them second-hand half-as-much as I did on Sunday. Rock on.

A strong Indian, in full pose.

A strong Indian, in full pose.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Marching to a powerful, communal beat.

Marching to a powerful, communal beat.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A proud young Indian.

A proud young Indian.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Hangin' with James and Mary, while respecting their privacy. Until now, of course.

My second day of Habitat for Humanity was cancelled without much of a reason, which is something of a bummer. But even more of a bummer is just how things look in those areas most brutalized by Katrina. We rented a car for a day starting yesterday afternoon and drove around the Ninth Ward leading up to those famous failed levees on Lake Pontchartrain. Some areas look to be heavily rehabilitated. Others are filled with house after house of windowless, tattered shells of former homes. I drove around some more this morning and noticed dozens of now equally-worn FEMA trailers parked beside houses that are obviously under varying degrees of repair. Most noticable to me, however, is how the grasses and trees have essentially grown back fully, often lending a feeling of marsh land to certain neighborhoods. If you didn't venture out of the French Quarter or Central City it would be hard to imagine that life had not returned to normal. In short, I'm glad to have taken a bit of time to see just how much of a dichotomy that is when you compare it with life in the flood zones. I can do it no justice through description and, sadly, I didn't do much to help this week as it turned out. But a little bit of education goes a long way.

On a much brighter note, Sarah and I splurged on a classic New Orleans restaurant last night. K-Paul's Lousiana Kitchen in the French Quarter, owned by Chef Paul Prudhomme (a dead ringer for Dom Deluise of the "Cannonball Run" era). The food was very good, even though we're convinced yet again that even the exceptional versions of this style of cuisine ain't exactly our fave. But midway through our delightful meal, we got a surprise celeb sighting that added a star to the rating. James Carville, Mary Matalin and their kids sat down at the table next to us. For me, it was like seeing Miley Cyrus plop down next to me in the high school cafeteria. But Sarah - as a credit to her infinite wisdom - convinced me to not approach them and just let them have their family time. After a while, two pharmaceutical reps from a large table across the room approached and asked to have a picture taken with a make-up-less Mary. She declined. Graciously. I got to overhear James order a "double order of gumbo". I gained new respect for them given that it was a big Primary night and they chose to skip watching the results and have a meal with their kids. I didn't even see one check of a Blackberry or the like, even as we lingered over dessert. Maybe James saw what was coming for Hillary and just wanted to escape. Regardless, we finished our meal and walked around the French Quarter. Sarah swore that she saw James checking me out. That was reward enough. My rating for the restaurant - a solid B. With a gold star for the company (wink, wink).

After that, we headed to "Iron Man" with a friend who grew up here and moved back from Austin a year ago. The same friend (Peter) who the night prior brought us to Cooter Brown's for super po'boys and Dos Jeffes for cigars (don't ask). My ratings - Cooter Brown's (B-plus), Dos Jeffes Cigar Bar (B-plus), "Iron Man" (A-minus). Good times in all three cases. In the case of "Iron Man", Robert Downey Jr. is having more fun than anyone on the planet at the moment. The movie is perfect blockbuster fare, satisfying in every way. The design is pitch-perfect and really fun to watch. I couldn't imagine a better way to start the summer movie onslaught. See it.

Hope your own trips back home today feature an extra seat and double bags of almonds. Rock on.

The burn's not nearly bad enough to keep me from typing a good review.

Like most of New Orleans, I spent yesterday at JazzFest. The day was absolutely perfect - near 80 degrees, humidity unusually low around 60%, not a cloud in a true blue sky. One day tickets run way spendy - $50 at the door. But it couldn't have been better timed for the last day of the Fest to enjoy such delightful aesthetics. I saw a few great acts (The Raconteurs surprised me by rocking wholly without pretense, the Mahalia Jackson tribute was powerful and touching especially when Irma Thomas was on the stage, everyone is still raving about the varied and extended gatherings of Nevilles and Santanas). The food and beer were great. Walking around today you can see all degrees of sunburn. Thankfully only my forearms took a hit. I won't say that I'd come back just for JazzFest. But after a day like yesterday, I might think about it.

From the campaign trail I see nothing but overstated understatements. Obama on "Meet the Press" yesterday was lackluster, Hillary on "This Week" was equally uninteresting. They're just tired. And we're just tired of them. Yet I'll offer one small volley toward Hillary's minions - this mailer from Hillary sent to folks in Indiana and North Carolina is meant to attack Obama's stance on guns.

Only problem is that the photo on the mailer is doctored (reversing a 60s-era German-made Mauser to make it appear that it is a left-handed gun). Small point, maybe. But not only does that "sportsman's gun" not exist, if it did it would go for over two-grand. Or as I prefer to think of it - at least one individual tax rebate check ($600) plus a tax holiday benefit where you'd need to buy 7609 gallons of gas between Memorial Day and Labor Day (saving $.184/gallon). Snark snark. You're welcome.

Hope your own sunburns comes with good memories today. Rock on.

Baby steps into Bywater

With much preview notice and little actual information, today was my first scheduled day to do something with Habitat for Humanity here in New Orleans. Jimmy Carter's coming in a week for the start of one of those marquee events when everyone wields at the very least a hammer, if not tremendous self-satisfaction. But for me? Work in an out of the way warehouse, teamed with two other out-of-towners, a three-legged-dog and a single employee that wanted nothing more than to shut up shop and head to JazzFest ("Steel Pulse plays at 3, and I'm so out of here before then.") Not to mention that a true thunderstorm front bore down on the City starting around an hour before our designated "start time" for "work". I'd planned to walk there. I decided to take a cab to expand my carbon footprint while avoiding an accidental drowning. My friendly cabbie asked lots of questions, all with a disbelieving tone seemingly meant to echo a belief that I was either lost or should be questioned further for heading to said address. I finally convinced him that I had the right address, which as it turns out lies in an interesting arty neighborhood known locally as Bywater. Bywater is actually in the Ninth Ward, but it didn't suffer much flooding at all during the post-Katrina period (or "post-K", as I've seen it termed here in the Times-Picayune - a great paper, by the way). The warehouse was a well-organized tangle of stuff torn out and donated by builders to Habitat for Humanity. So well-organized, as a matter of fact, that there was nothing for us to do. Except talk for a while about what it's like to be on the opposite end of the PR spectrum from the Musician's Village, or Bradgelina, or anything dealing with new showcase construction projects. What you have in the ReStore is a place for people to get greatly reduced prices on generally good but somewhat ramshackle items. Some cherries were in the mix - the employee pointed out a brand-new kitchen stove that "some a**hole" donated that was nicer than our own back in Seattle. McMansion upgrade, we mutually surmised. But all snark aside, it was mainly an operation that amazingly facilitates building supplies needed at a cut-rate for those that couldn't otherwise afford a renovation.

There was nothing for me to do. I thought about taking the three legged dog out for a skip around the block. But not even Tripod (not his real name) wanted to venture into the rain. One couple eventually came and walked around the aisles of windows, screens, doors, cabinets, tiles and random crap. They thanked us and left. Pretty soon I ran for coffee and a cinamon roll on a drive-by recommendation from my cabbie for a great neighborhood bakery at the corner of Spain and Chartres Streets. The crowd in the cafe was decidedly arty. And conversant. White. But, hell, even Jeremiah Wright would have felt at home given the energy in the room. I read some of the local paper. Including the Saturday Real Estate section that features an absolutely astonishing extended listing of transactions they call "Transfers". Broken down by Districts of the City and bordering Parishes, you can see how many homes were bought by whom and for how much. It wouldn't have caught my eye were it not for the prices. $50K was about the norm. A few over $100K. Many around $30K. For homes in a metropolitan area. I don't know enough about it (yet) to judge. But there's a story there that I'd not heard of previously. An exodus. And not a happy or chosen one by hundreds of families, just this week alone.

After a healthy linger, I took my cinamon roll and walked back through the French Quarter toward our hotel in the Warehouse District. I didn't return to ReStore, which is just as well. I was an out-of-towner looking to cleanse my soul in some way. And that doesn't fly when there's JazzFest to get to. Even I can understand that aspect of the local mentality. As I approached the French Quarter, tourists decked out in garbage bag-quality rain slickers festooned with French Quarter street signs began to appear with alarming regularity. I can only imagine how many of those plastic sheets will end up in Louisiana's landfills now that the late afternoon has turned sunny and the forecast is for a number of consecutive days of summery weather. On a different note, I've decided to rent a car one day and drive out to the neighborhoods I know I need to see. Then I've got another Habitat for Humanity volunteer day on Wednesday. JazzFest ends tomorrow, which I hope to attend. Please check back for more observations. Or don't. No worries.

Hope your own days brighten as considerably as the afternoon here has today. Rock on.

Hangin' with Tommy Lee. For a few seconds. Before the Sheriff's Department shoved a beignet in my mouth and put me on a streetcar.

My first impression of New Orleans after arriving this morning is that we ain't seen nothing yet. It's Jazz Fest, which means the city is awash in hipster tourists and alcoholics wandering around the City spilling all over the rarely sighted locals. The areas of the City in lingering disarray are far from the hotel we're staying in and the French Quarter where I've been wandering for a while. I expect I'll see something worth commenting on tomorrow when I head to a first day of volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity. But I do have one scene report. Imagine Jackson Square where Dubya delivered his infamous speech a week after Katrina made landfall. Kitty korner to Cafe Du Monde - the famously necessary visit for any out-of-towner looking for beignets and horrible chickory-flavored coffee. And just across Decatur Street toward the Mighty Mississip in the elevated park with the cannon statue...Tommy Lee from Motley Crue and various sex tapes fame filming something for yet another lame reality show. This time it's about the environment, kids! If ever there was a signal that the ironic debauchery was back home in N'awlins, I think I've just seen it being staged. Personally, I'd prefer to see a thousand frat guys throwing up on each other just a few blocks away along Bourbon Street and then gathering forces to add it all to a compost bin for disadvantaged gardens.

Hope your own fests are equally jazzy today. Rock on.

Beignets, Jazz Fest and tool belts

We're heading on the road again tonight aboard an insane red-eye flight that will eventually get us to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Another work gig for Sarah. I'm going to drive some nails for Habitat for Humanity and check out what the devastation looks like as we approach the third anniversary of Katrina. Expect a bundle of pics and hopefully a few insights. Maya's staying back here in GrungeCity. At a kennel. She's such a trooper.

Hope your own May Day Parade has columns upon columns of hybrid Hummers today. Rock on.

"And joining me on the accordian, a topless Miley Cyrus!"

After an extreme Passover Break for Maya's daycare (TWO WEEKS!), we're back in the regular groove as of yesterday. So I'll catch up with y'all by offering a few quickies.

We saw Dan Zanes and Friends over the weekend perform at the Moore Theatre downtown. Maya's been excited for months to soak in a live show yet again. But once we got inside, she wasn't able to deal with the noise and essentially forced Sarah to do laps around various corridors until the show ended. Which gave me some time for a few observations. In no particular order.
1. White women still continue to dance considerably better than white men, even after childbirth.
2. Aging male musicians cannot not surround themselves with increasingly younger, hotter female bandmates, no matter the genre.
3. The soundman for Dan Zanes and Friends should be sacked immediately for gross negligence (even kids can tell you generally how to mike a tap dancer or guest vocalist with a set of bongos).
4. If 3/4ths of the African Americans at the show are on-stage, and the other one is sitting across the aisle from you - you're not exactly seeing a cross-over act.
5. Concert t-shirts are cool. Dood.

On an entirely different level, I'd be remiss if I didn't pile on the Reverend Jeremiah Wright media tour of the last few days. What. A. Trainwreck. If Barack Obama had done what everyone expected and thrown Wright under the bus many many weeks ago, it would have been ugly. Instead, Obama gave what I still believe to be his greatest speech in choosing not to do so. But then the media poked and prodded this obviously egomaniacal Pastor like a caged tiger ad hominem. The result? Ladies and Gentlemen - meet this election's Willie Horton. I watched the Bill Moyers interview and went to bed thinking Rev. Wright was trying to be dignified and still help out one of his past parishioners. Then I saw the NAACP speech. Then the DC Press Club speech. Oy vey. So I must now say that I was wrong. Throw this baggage under the bus. If Obama can't bring himself to do so, he'll end up carrying this distraction around for months and months.

Hope your own baggage is surprisingly light today. Rock on.

The business end of a bowling alley. Or, actually, the non-business end.

The business end of a bowling alley. Or, actually, the non-business end.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Sunset Bowl in Ballard recently shut up shop and sold the property for $13Million. High-price condos will soon replace this beloved Seattle relic. Yesterday was the auction of all the balls and pins and detritus. I took my dad, who was visiting from Wisconsin. It was my first auction. His many hundredth. It was astonishingly insightful to walk around the back of the alleys and see what a mechanical operation a big alley represents. What follows are a few faves from a bevvy of pics.

A pin polisher, a urinal and a water heater. Sadly, only the urinal wasn't listed in the catalog.

A pin polisher, a urinal and a water heater. Sadly, only the urinal wasn't up for auction.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

If you're looking for fancy furnishings, I expect the back of an ancient bowling alley is the last place to start.

Taking pictures of people taking pictures - a personal favorite irony.

Taking pictures of people taking pictures - a personal favorite irony.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I often irritate my wife/family/countless mistresses by taking pics of people taking pics. But in this case, this meta moment has a doppleganger out there in the Seattle mainstream media. Enjoy.

Maya and Grandpa check out the piggy bank in the Market.

Maya and Grandpa check out the piggy bank in the Market.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I'm catching up on well over a week's worth of pics. Family in town, crazy Seattle weather, blah blah blah. Hope you have loads of shots in the can today. Rock on.

Donuts from the Daily Dozen in the Pike Street Market - you don't need to be a tourist to dig it.

Donuts from the Daily Dozen in the Pike Street Market - you don't need to be a tourist to dig it.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Snow! Global warming? Confusion?! Fun."

"Snow! Global warming? Confusion?! Fun."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya checked out what was a wholly crazy late Spring snow cycle for Seattle. It melted. Oh, but the memories...

"Nixon rode on this thing? What a piece of crap."

"Nixon rode on this thing? What a piece of crap."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya vamps in the Museum of Flight on an open display platform. I didn't get a shot of the security guards beating us into submission thereafter.

Maya vamps in the Museum of Flight on an open display platform. I didn't get a shot of the security guards beating us into submission thereafter.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Playtime snacktime with Marine, Maya's favorite school chum.

Playtime snacktime with Marine, Maya's favorite school chum.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Elephant. It's what's for dinner.

Elephant. It's what's for dinner.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Happy Thirtysomethingth, Mommy!"

"Happy Thirtysomethingth, Mommy!"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Cake baking for Sarah's birthday

Cake baking for Sarah's birthday
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"The next question is a two-parter - when did you stop beating your wife AND do you think doing cocaine helped you understand your family better?"

Like most observers, I was appalled after last night's Dems debate. Obama got punked constantly, stumbling occasionally along the way. Hillary was willing to say anything, as usual. Charlie Gibson is officially now a swear word around my house. George Stephanopoulos still is. And the result? Bupkis. Big ratings, no real results. Yawn. With a sneer.

So I'm not about to focus on this whole showdown for the next few days. Sort of. Which should be easy since my parents are coming to town from Wisconsin. Please check back for some fresh pics as they get re-acquainted with Maya.

Hope your own debate analysis deals primarily with podium height today. Rock on.

Grey day, great view of downtown Minneapolis from the Walker Art Center

Grey day, great view from the Walker Art Center's tower of downtown Minneapolis.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I hadn't visited the Walker in years and years. It's even more vital than ever. If you ever go to the Twin Cities, don't miss it. I'm glad I didn't this time out.

A totally cherry view of the downtown Minneapple from the Sculpture Garden

A totally cherry view of the downtown Minneapple from the Sculpturre Garden.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

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.

When geldings attack...

Everyone's going to pile on Bill Clinton's latest not-so-private outburst, so I must join the scrum early on. According to the political columnists for the San Francisco Comical (Matier and Ross - the primary reason I occasionally got that paper when we lived there), Bubba went off amidst a gathering of superdelegates after someone cornered him on James Carville's "Judas" comment about Bill Richardson's endorsement. We've all been told for years that Bill's got quite the temper, temper. But this just sounds like Crazytown. Compare Bubba's flame with yesterday's very temperate WashingtonPost op-ed from none other than Bill Richardson. I'm sure we all can draw our own opinions, I'll nonetheless try to influence yours. So here goes.

Bill Clinton is utterly out of control. I can maybe excuse James Carville for sounding like a crazed wombat. He's a hired gun without a legitimate holster at the moment. But Bubba was Prezidunt. Even if yesterday's meeting in California wasn't as bad as what's reported, we all need to ask if we want this man anywhere near the Oval Office any longer. Don't misinterpret my motivations - I was until this campaign the biggest of big Clinton promoters/excusers. But an actual race for the hearts and minds of the Democratic Party has shown the Clintons to be worse than what their worst detractors claimed - outsized egos willing to say and burn down anything if it meant they could get seated back at the head table. It makes me sad to say/type this. But I have come to loathe Bill Clinton.

Hope your own admissions of personal change are limited to finally liking the look of your ass in the mirror today. Rock on.

Covering sleeping homeless people since 1851. Poorly, I might add.

Sunday for those of us churchless liberals is usually about one thing. Unless there's brunch. The lump of deadtree that is the Sunday NYTimes. I know, I know - I need to finally move over to the entirely electronic form of this weekly dive into the finest paper in all the land. So today, my two faves come from other online sources.

The Politico pulls some pretty petty reporting of Hillary's campaign being horrible at paying their bills. But I can't wait for the direct-mail pushback from said lackies as they run to that unseemly copy center way out in the burbs that still writes up advance work orders. Synopsis - Hillary is broke.

New York Magazine has a super-snarky throwaway piece that offers some dish on how John and Elizabeth Edwards feel about the lobbying for their endorsements. Synopsis - Hillary's been very professional, Obama's been a bit of a dick.

As a bonus, here's one half-hearted shout out to the NYTimes for a Sunday Styles piece on the inherent connectivity between Brooklyn and the East Bay. I don't buy the synopsis for a second (they are inextricably connected by some sort of culture warp) since almost as much time is spent talking crap about things miles away from the East Bay. Kinda like saying Staten Island and Milwaukee are one in the same and spending half your time ordering at The Brat Stop in Kenosha. Yet one of my personal faves - the Mollusk Surf Shop in the Outer Sunset of San Francisco - gets a big blurb. I love the Mollusk (best t-shirts in California). So, weirdly...whoo-hoo.

Hope your don't lose an unread section in an unfortunate French Toast spill today. Rock on.

Aloof Goofs Spoof for Boof!

Baseball. The Major League kind. Can you smell it? Ah, it's fresh. Namely, our Nation's beloved Milwaukee Brewers kick off their pennant run with an opener at Wrigley Field on Monday. Many questions remain for the Brew Crew - who will round out their starting piching rotation, will Rickie Weeks finally show up at the plate, will Mike Cameron's 25-game suspension for banned steroids cause his balls to shrink even more, is there any expected end to the lingering winter back yonder? But I think we all can find reason for excited optimism at the foreseen onset of our respective Opening Days. Even though it's currently snowing outside here in Seattle, at least it's not snowing inside. That would suck. So here's to a fine Season for all. Including my new favorite non-Brewer - Boof Bonser.


Said Boof is a pitcher who's been burdened with the nickname "Boof" since early childhood. Yet he legally changed his name from John Paul to Boof. Not surprisingly, he's a Minnesota Twin. He's chubby. He's probably a dick. But I love love LOVE the name. Here's to you, Boof. May the Brewers beat you in Game 7 of the World Series on a surprising goof that in no way diminishes your Cy Young winning year.

Hope your own delusional self-regard prevents you from changing your name to "Dudemeister" today. Rock on.

Rick Astley - the cure for Global Warming. 'Cause he's so cool.

Approximately 47 years ago a good friend in college repeatedly alleged that I was a dead-ringer for British pop dink, Rick Astley. Alas, male-pattern baldness and the surprising ability to afford groceries changed my celebrity-mis-sightings. Nonetheless, I am still pleased by the occasional offhand mention of my doppelganger. Case in point - the hilarious phenomenom of "Rick Rolling" wherein unsuspecting dolts are paired with Rick Astley's "timeless" vids from the 80s. If the last sentence sounds like a language you don't understand, consider yourself less burdened by mindlessness than most trolling the internets. But if you like the cut of my jib, here's the fix you need.

Rick Astley is alive. And he thinks Rick Rolling is cool. Is it just me, or did I just step into a time machine? Oh wait, it's just me.

Hope your own VH1 specials feature a special appearance by Downtown Julie Brown today. Rock on.

"Frontline" presents a masterful draft of History

Ah, history. PBS gave us all a hearty taste of it over the last two nights (viewable in its entirety online). "Bush's War" is a two-part documentary that is absolutely chilling. It represents a singular achievement that is the best journalism I've seen in any medium in years and years. There are so many worthy take-aways (Condi Rice had no experience, Tommy Franks smokes two packs a day in between drinking 15 cups of coffee, Donald Rumsfeld is utterly evil, Richardo Sanchez was the most junior Three-Star General in the Army when he got promoted to run the whole show, yada yada yada). But seeing Jerry Bremer seethe and stumble through his answers to the toughest questions is just plain stunning insight. This is the story of a generation. Of nincompoops. I've been a fan of the long form style of "Frontline" for years. But they have never been better or more relevant. Watch it. Tell everyone you know about it. You're welcome.

Oh, and the most entertaining found video clip of the new Millenium. Watch this, as well. For entirely different reasons.



Hope your own Peabody Award is also inevitably in the offing today. Rock on.

Anniversary, saddamiversary - let's call the whole thing off.

Every time our lethargic nation chooses to pay attention to Iraq, we're told to believe that a turning point is at hand. The 5th Anniversary of the invasion and the bleak milestone of 4000 dead American soldiers are only the most recent examples of trying to change the flavor of the moment with a turn or two of phrase. But in trying to recollect a now cloudy thought of my own just a few moments ago - the argument that the invasion needed to happen in March before the weather turned decidedly toward summer and the temperatures escalated for our troops in their chemical suits - I came across a lost gem. Via the White House website, no less. If you love punishing post mortems, I highly recommend a quick read. If you want the nugget and can do without the waste, Condi Rice falsely argued in late January of 2003 that the Prezidunt had the justification to do the U.N.'s bidding and forcefully disarm Saddam. She closed by saying that Iraq should know that "time is running out." Yet, here we are, over 5 years later, being told to expect that troop levels through the end of Dubya's reign will remain basically the same. While the fractured Mahdi Army and associated Shiite allies conduct an obvious offensive. As the weather heats up. And basic services are at a worse level than before the invasion. And our nation looks at the daily drumbeat of bad economic newsiness with a sense of not knowing what's next. Hell, even Seattle is finally seeing a depreciation of housing valuation for the first time since 1991. I hate to get all canary in the coalmine about this whole fandango. But wake up, America. Today may not be a Tet Offensive. But the stretched parallels to that sleepy late January lunar New Year are awkwardly hard to deny, at best. Scary as hell, at worst.

Hope your own discovered past speeches only feature lame Beavis and Butthead jokes today. Rock on.

"If only for the grace of Gawd, my companion Sinbad survived to open strongly that following Holidaze Season in the beloved "Jingle All the Way"!"

It's no secret that Barack Obama and family planned to take a few days off away from the media glare to vacation. They chose the U.S. Virgin Islands, left yesterday (on Easter), and plan to return to Chicago on Tuesday. But thankfully, FOX News is able to break through his unpatriotic choice and bring us a bad phone interview and digital pic from the beach to confirm that he truly is acting like the closeted Muslim they surely still believe him to be. Please be sure to wash you hands after if you choose to click through on this pathetic snippet.

I'm curious to see just how far the questioning goes of Hillary's "we took on sniper fire and had to run for the cars...with Chelsea, Sinbad, Sheryl Crow and Willem DeFoe's tragic character trying to keep up with me" crap sandwich. Not far, I expect. But if you think this sort of thing doesn't have legs for a voracious media pack, I'll be certainly willing to pass the collection plate down your pew...



Hope your own opposition research deals mainly with kitchen magnets today. Rock on.

Ah, those quiet moments with a book. No matter your age, 'tis one of life's great pleasures.

Ah, those quiet moments with a book. No matter your age, 'tis one of life's great pleasures.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Is it just me, or do the black jelly beans taste like daddy's

"Is it just me, or do the black jelly beans not taste like daddy's socks?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya and her best bud Marine - totally faking it. Not.

Maya and her best bud Marine - totally faking it. Not.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya listens intently to the story of how Queen Esther saved the Easter Bunny. Or something to that effect.

Maya listens intently to the story of how Queen Esther saved the Easter Bunny. Or something to that effect.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya at takeoff.

Maya at takeoff.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya gets to work on her owl costume for Purim.

Maya gets to work on her owl costume for Purim.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya inspects just some of the herb seeds we got in the dirt this week.

Maya inspects just some of the herb seeds we got in the dirt this week.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A true matzo miracle, with a Door County-shaped pizza addition.

A true matzo miracle, with a Door County-shaped pizza addition.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Oh, and can you give me some snow up top, with legs?"

A quick coffee-snob critique. I try to only support the independent shops. But the occasional over-the-top dork you bump up against therein can be as unpalatable as the world's worst squirrel stew served in a rusty iron lung. Such as the guy in line behind me this morning at one of my faves. He literally ordered a "triple shot vanilla soy latte, two decaf one caf, extra hot". Really, dude? Aside from the infinitely-remote possibility that you have the sort of tastebuds that can discern spices on the parts per million basis as activated by temperature...can you please just tuck that in a bit. Because it makes us all look sucky.

For those desperate for an update - Maya's thriving in her part-time daycare. She's got two new best friends (Marine and Katie). She already knows more about Judaism than me and Sarah combined. Such as the background details on tomorrow's celebration - Purim. Apparently, it's the Mardi Gras of the Jewish calendar. Costumes, lots of drinking, noisemakers, and a carnival atmosphere meant to celebrate Esther and mock Haman's failed attempt to rid Persia of Jews something like 2600 years ago. Whoo-hoo! Kinda like Summerfest in Milwaukee. Well, without all the justified human ceremony and historical reflection. But I ask you - has Tom Petty ever played Purim? Regardless, check back for what I expect will be a bundle of pics from tomorrow morning's celebration.

Hope your own use of Haman is a friendly "hey, mahn" today. Rock on.

Obama's timing couldn't draw a stronger contrast if he delivered "The Speech" with a "Mission Accomplished" banner behind him

Barack Obama delivered his finest speech this morning in Philadelphia. Which is saying a helluva lot, given how many other fine speeches he is credited with delivering in the past. This time he was attempting to quell a storm - the opportunistic tempest stirred up by endless replays of his former Pastor Jeremiah Wright's bombastic sermons over the last few news cycles. In due course, Obama took on race, history, religion and his truly unique ancestry when compared with a typical candidate for any elected office in this Nation (much less the highest in the Land). He did so with characteristic flair, nonetheless weaving in some digs at Hillary and policy positions on education, health care, foreign policy and our image abroad. I've made no secret of my support for him. I will now go a step further. This candidate has the power to change everything. Obama just keeps getting stronger in front of history's caustic glare. I expect he just won over a ton of those wavering in the past few weeks. If he doesn't win the Presidency, I will quit blogging. Which I'm sure would please more than a few of those aimlessly antagonistic readers. But I'll throw down the challenge, nonetheless.

What if you started a War based on lies, had no plan for how to get out, spent trillions of dollars, killed nearly 4000 volunteer soldiers, and fiddled away the same old tune while the economy melted down 5 years later? Any rational student of history would conclude that you'd be pretty well screwed. So on this dubious anniversary, as the Fed throws everything and the kitchen sink into the chasm that is rapidly opening beneath the feet of so many Americans, I'd like to remind Dubya of his oft-repeated phrasing. "History will decide." Yup, for once we agree.

Hope your own anniversaries relate to the good things in life today. Rock on.

Everything I Ever Needed to Know Would Never Have Been Taught in Kindergarten

This afternoon I had a "training session" for the next stage of the Washington State Democratic Caucus procedure (I'm a delegate from our lowly Precinct level of involvement, up to this point). Hereafter, I'm able to run for one of 40 slots against 859 current Barack Obama delegates. Which still ain't even close to the National Convention. Whatever. It's time to sling some mud in random fashion. That's my campaign motto. So here goes.

Hillary's laugh is fake. John McCain will never, ever pull all our troops out of Iraq. John Boehner's birthname was actually "Hardy Boner". Nancy Pelosi is reluctant to show off her killer bod. Harry Reid is a Mormon (seriously). Ted Kennedy cries uncontrollably twice a day. Russ Feingold deserves to be our next (Vice) President. Bill Gates secretly loves SPAM. Eliot Spitzer only would frequent hookers that had an extra toe on at least one foot. Donald Rumsfeld has taken up floral arranging and scrapbooking to ward off the realization that he'll burn in hell forever. Britney Spears eats one kitten and most of two puppies every day. All hybrid vehicles are 13% more fuel efficient if you stick a carrot in the lighter slot. Gawd is dead.

Glad I could help. Hope your own non sequiters are non sequitish today. Rock on.

Ladies and Gentlemen - here's the Hooker we've all been looking for...

How much do you think you were worth per hour at 22-years-old? Please consider inflation. Apparently, I TOTALLY undervalued myself. Ashley Alexandra Dupre` was deemed worth $1000/hour by a former Governor of New York. Just imagine if The Gap had to honor that sort of minimum wage. "Please enjoy your $7000 jeans, sir."

Hope your own MySpace is YourSpace today. Rock on.

But the price will seem a bargain when you consider the bonus "Lewinsky" bundled in the package.

The countdown is on for Eliot Spitzer's resignation. If I had an office to pool, I'd pick just after the markets close this afternoon. In the only positive aspect I can mine from this story, I'm personally very interested in David Paterson as Governor (he'll be the first blind Governor in our Nation's history). He sounds like a stand-up fella. But Spitz - what a FUBAR disaster. I met a guy 3 years ago at a wedding who was working as an Assistant District Attorney in New York and could speak at length personally of Spitz. At the time, admittedly, I was blinded by the rising star media story that surrounded the then NY Attorney General. In knowing contrast, he thought Spitz was scum. Not about anything like this scandal, but the self-righteousness that was so obvious to those that worked under him. I'm sure stories like that will dominate the next few cycles. At least until someone tracks down "Kristen" and readies her image for the inevitable "Playboy" spread. For the moment, everyone's chopping up Spitz's still warm corpse while offering well-worn sympathetic canards. For his wife. His three teenage daughters. His ruined career as a crime fighter. His emboldened past targets. What. Ever. Anyone who pays $4300 for just over two hours with a petite brunette that didn't get to toss her off a pyramid afterwards - well, you're just a dumb, rich jerk who already has a spot reserved in history's Gallery of Political Shame. I suggest hung right next to Larry Craig.

Hope your own illegal interstate commerce today at worst deals with shipping Girl Scout cookies. Rock on.

Get out your calculators...and then throw them away.

Nobody expects Wyoming to have much sway when it comes to the Democratic nominating process. Or, I should say, nobody EXPECTED Wyoming to have much sway. But with only 11 remaining States and Territories (Puerto Rico, Guam) left to voice their preference, Wyoming's moment in the Dems sun was yesterday. Typical '08 caucus - huge turnout, big Obama victory. The response from the Clinton campaign? States don't matter, unless they're named Texas, Ohio, Florida, Michigan or Pennsylvania. So I'll let them furiously pirouette around the momentum argument, which even I'm becoming tired of watching. Basically, for me it boils down to this - if the current breakdowns expected from the remaining contests hold even Dubya-budget-close to what is expected (even with do-overs in Florida and Michigan) Obama wins well over 30 States/Territories, pledged delegates and the popular vote. So...his head is on the block for the Clintons to whack at mercilessly. They either take him out, or they lose. Which do you expect? I'm personally terrified of the prospects. Or, to play the national security card I've personally used ever since 9/11, I'm more afraid of the response than what's already occurred. One sidelight - Saturday Night Live's smackdown of Hillary's "3 am phone" ad that aired last night was a hard slap that rang out for me with a necessary feel of evening up the satirical scorecard. Don't expect to hear Hillary bringing that one up on the stump. Ever.

Hope you're able to sleep through the night without interruptions for the foreseeable future. Rock on.

I only hope he also quits making Wrangler commericals.

Oh, the sadness. Brett Favre is retiring. It has been suggested that the Green Bay Packers didn't work hard enough at encouraging him to return for another year. If true, Ted Thompson (the Packers' GM) will soon replace Osama bin Laden as the favorite burning effigy at every frat party in Wisconsin. I mean - COME ON! Not doing everything possible to get Favre back for another season is like McDonalds deciding that Ronald McDonald should be replaced as chief spokesman by Grimace. Or College Republicans replacing their worship of Ronald Reagan with a newfound zeal for Bob Dole's zombie-like visage. I'm just glad to have been able to cheer for Favre over the past 16 years. When he replaced the horrifically self-absorbed Don Majkowski and went on to start the next 275 games, old and new Packer fans everywhere got that special glint in their eye. Brett was a revelation. He scared the pants off everyone, including his biggest fans. He threw like the meanest kid ever, joked with the baddest asses on the other side of the line, and made it up as he went along. But that was all an act - he was as smart as anyone who ever played the game. Sports icons can be overly lauded, to be sure. But Favre earned it - every season, in every way. So I hope we all raise an Old Style in his honor this evening. I can honestly say that I will truly miss seeing him play and thank him for every touchdown, every victory, and, yes, every interception and those few crushing losses. On balance, he gave Wisconsin more joy than anything ever invented. Besides Vince Lombardi. Or beer.

Hope your own teams have a decent back-up waiting in the wings that didn't just crap his pants this morning. Rock on.

Not to mention just how frickin' stupid Steve Forbes was in retrospect

Leap Day. What a horribly ironic name to be invoked on a day when the American stock markets get everyone headed for the windowsills. Overstated fearfulness? Assuredly. But if you want a more appropos sign of just how screwed we all might be by our departing flag-bearers, look only toward Dubya's presser yesterday when he denied the possibility of a recession while playing dumb (!) when it came to the utterly realistic suggestion of $4/gallon gas in the upcoming months. Superlatives will no longer suffice. This man is the dumbest public personage in the history of this Nation. Even if Warren Harding and Jim (Christopher Lloyd) from "Taxi" are graded on a curve.

In decidedly brighter news, Maya turned 3 this week. Her yearly medical check-up tagged her beefy, tall and ready to bring the hammer down if need be. Or just plain thriving. We hope y'all are equally bolstered by recent medical exams. Rock on.

A kiss for Auntie Becca for letting us crash in her pad.

A kiss for Auntie Becca for letting us crash in her pad.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya's First Birthday Cake...of her Third Shot at the Title.

Maya's First Birthday Cake...of her Third Shot at the Title.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A few days early. Cake is always on time, regardless.

That's how we cover things up in Chinatown.

That's how we cover things up in Chinatown.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

The lead up to the annual Chinese New Year Parade in San Francisco's Chinatown was pretty wet. Still, I had a blast meandering the streets after hitting some of my favorite North Beach spots. Happy Year of the Rat, everyone.

In the continuing series - the deYoung Museum's copper exoskeleton

In the continuing series - the deYoung Museum's copper exoskeleton continues to weather over time...
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Since we moved away from San Francisco, I always return to the deYoung Museum in Golden Gate Park to gauge the oxcidation of the copper exterior. As I've heard it described, the architects expected it to loosely approximate the lost history of the copper that characterizes the Statue of Liberty's descent in the grand green lady it now has become. Expect that everytime I head back that you'll get a fresh shot. Cloudy day, little change, beautiful park.

"Chug, Chug, Chug!"

"Chug, Chug, Chug!"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya and her new best buddie, Sheridan, polish off some berry juice after a serious Playdough session at Auntie Becca's house.

The Nader Nadir

Mixed news - I learned today that not only is Maya's impending birthday shared with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, but also with Ralph Nader. Seriously. Nader, who, by the way, announced over the weekend that he's once again running against the swelling torrent of opinions for who should be Prezidunt. So even here in the Bay Area (we're visiting), where a fully evolved monkey that can recite a snippet of Alan Ginsberg's "Howl" with a whisper of authenticity might get elected to the Berkeley City Council...I hear moans. Nader is at best 20 years past his relevancy. He's a soon-to-be 74-year-old punk, re-inserting himself into a debate where he can offer nothing even close to plans for resolution. Nader is arrogantly trying to sabotage a legitimate groundswell of activism for Barack Obama to do...gawd knows what other than inflate his own ego. But don't get me wrong. I respect the dude. Circa 1974. At this point, he's Lyndon Larouche with a full pardon and slightly crazier activists running his campaign. I thought for sure that after getting laughed off the national stage in '04 having only made 34 States' ballots and acquiring a whopping 0.3% of the vote that we might have been spared such future distractions. But just like "Godfather III" - just when you thought (he) was out, (he) pulls himself back in. Ugh.

We head back to Seattle tomorrow. I'll recap the sights soon with some pics. Lovely day today. The liberals have peeled off at least a layer of self-satisfaction to soak up the sun. I've already taken off two. Hope your own Vitamin D production is amped. Rock on.

"But when I say 'we' I mean a different we than us. Oui?"

One quick comment from last night's Dems debate - Hillary's crap-filled coda was borrowed from both Bubba circa '92 and this season's John Edwards. Talk about a Xerox moment. With duplicates. I sincerely hope she gets hung up on this sanctimonious bunk for a bundle of days in this crucial period - extremely stupid strategy on her part.

We're heading down to the Bay Area this evening for a handful of days. Maya's turf from way back when. Expect a handful of photos and updates from the visit. Hope your own weekend leads you somewhere full of liberals stoked with loads of Rice-A-Roni. Rock on.

The Race for Spirit (Wisconsin)!

Last night's Primary results in Wisconsin confirmed an astonishing trend. The Hillary Inevitability Mo-sheen is now officially scrapped for a downsized model. And while everyone's parsing the exit polling (somewhat dubious) and the speeches (total theatre), I've actually got something that matters. To a microscopic degree. Nonetheless, the teeny township that I grew up in (Town of Spirit outside Ogema in Price County) is filled with conservative farmers and church-goin' folks that I remember as well as my current ATM password. So last night after polls closed, my Dad passed along the polling results received via my childhood church's treasurer (also the election official for the Town Hall). Please bear in mind - in '04 there were 160 votes cast in the Presidential Election. For this Primary, 120 showed on both sides of the coin. Not a bad turnout. Although, I'm not sure how many neighbors have died in the last handful of years. Anyhoo, here's the tally:

Obama - 42
McCain - 35
Clinton - 20
Huckabee - 20
Romney - 2
Mis-vote - 1

One microcosm doesn't make an election. Unless it's my microcosm. Hillary got stomped by almost every demographic across the Badger State she until recently took for granted. Now everyone's focused forward on the horserace in Ohio and Texas, parsing the intricate nature of delegate allocation and...blah blah blah. Barack Obama just took a district in the strictly rural northern reaches of Wisconsin. A black Senator from Illinois. Where anyone from "down South" is still called a "FIB" (F**king Illinois B**tard). If you need more evidence of a movement beyond the "words" that the Clintons have come to so condescendingly deride, look no farther than the landslide yesterday in the folksy confines of Spirit's Town Hall.

Hope your own constituencies are filled with good ol' church-goin' commies today. Rock on.

Mountaineering - the Pre-School Years

Mountaineering - the Pre-School Years
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Actually, we only traversed the distance from our house to The Summit ski area at Snoqualmie Pass for a morning of President's Day fun in the snow. Elevation gain on foot? Maybe 100 feet. Which wrongly convinced Maya that she's ready to ride the chairlift "up the mountain". Oy vey. It was, nonetheless, a stunningly beautiful day in the Cascades.

"Snowball fight!"

"Snowball fight!"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya and her dashing sherpa.

Maya and her dashing sherpa.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Mommy, I think I'm ready to ride the chair lift."

"Mommy, I think I'm ready to ride the chair lift."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Oh, and Happy Va-jay-jay Day, Oprah!

For all my GOP friends, welcome to your Goldwater moment - John McCain won the nomination with Mitt Romney's release of pledged delegates. He's doomed unless Hillary wins the nomination, but I respect McCain. I couldn't disagree with him more on the issues of importance to our future, but I respect McCain. And I think he's pandered more to his rhetorical enemies in the last few years than anyone other Ryan Seacrest, but I respect McCain. Romney? Pull-eeze. Regardless, half the field is set at the top of the ticket. My bet for McCain's Veep? Here's my longshot offer - former Colorado Governor Bill Owens. If I'm right, you all owe me a Coke.

I've been a fan of Josh Marshall's TalkingPointsMemo since '04. His commentary is only surpassed by his site's journalistic method. He provides the best debunking of the SuperDelegates story surrounding the Dems to date. In short - chill out, chumps. These Party players are holding their cards. Whoever provides the best storyline for the nomination wins in the end. That's why Hillary is playing so hard and fast for committments now, when they're sure not to come.


Hope your own Veep is chosen merely to make you look like "the skinny one" today. Rock on.

Obama smells like victory

There's no way to de-spin the Joementum Barack Obama's got coming off yesterday's thumpin' in Virginia, Maryland and DC. Hillary is now, officially according to everyone's tallies, trailing in delegates. She lost yesterday in every imaginable demographic. Even pets. So her newbie campaign leaders chose to head to Texas for the weirdest concession speech in history to bolster her firewall strategy. Consider that for a moment. A Clinton. Relying upon Texas. To turn the tide. Holy crap. Hillary's over.

One catch up requirement on my part - I saw a gaggle of films a few weeks ago while my lovely wife and daughter were out of town. So before the Oscars pollute the collective opinion of filmlovers, I'll offer a few ratings.

"Cloverfield" - all hype, totally disposable cinema verite. An underwhelming C-plus.
"There Will Be Blood" - bleak, beautiful, surprisingly dull. Daniel Day Lewis is astonishing. But my rating is still a B.
"Charlie Wilson's War" - smart, more star-power than in years and years, also bleak. A solid B-plus.
"Persepolis" - best animated story in years, the most human story of the year. An astute A-minus. See it.

Hope your own delegates are super all day. Rock on.

Until today, I also thought that "caucus" sounded sorta dirty...

Here's a shout out to all you caucus (cough!) fans - long live loosely managed anarchy! I'm fresh off my first actual caucus here in Seattle for the Democrats running to be the next Prezidunt and I've got good news. My possibly misinformed fellow citizens/neighbors saw fit to nominate and confirm me as a delegate to the next stage as an Obama supporter. Which - to get all technical and such - means that myself and two others from my extended neighborhood go to the next level along with one Hillary Clinton delegate. Or as I hope she/he can be hereafter tagged - the HilliarityVote. My particular neighborhood broke 3 to 1 in favor of Obama. So I live in LatteVille. Contrary to what you might believe, I got drafted to be a delegate. Some thought it was my impassioned speech extolling my trust in Obama's character and transformational claim to the future. Others thought the fact that I wore shorts on a cloudy 45-degree day was inspirational. I'm sure there were those out there that just mistook me for a burly, hairless Rick Astley. Who cares - I'm through to Hollywood! Or, rather, the next level of delegate bunk here in King County in early April. Regardless, I am so gonna make this my quest. I am the next American Delegate Idol. Stay tuned.

Hope your own delusions include horrible 80s pop references today. Rock on.

"Catch a winner with Mitt!"

Alas, the Mittens are off. Somewhere right now, the Romney Family is strapping the dog to the roof of the station wagon as they prep to head off for a sober, sad ski weekend. But Mitt Romney dropping his utterly hilarious bid for the "sake of the Country and (his) Party" ain't worth more than a blip on the radar now being clogged with endlessly interesting dissection of the remaining Primaries for the Dems. Or, more importantly, the Delegates from said Primaries. If some of the smartest politicos are to be believed in their logic, there appears to be almost no way to prevent a brokered convention in Denver for the Dems. Say it together people - "soo per dell a guts". Get used to the sound. This may well be the one election cycle where even political junkies like me begin to question the nature of the condition.

Hope you own campaigns only suspend for chocolate breaks today. Rock on.

To think that Mike Gravel couldn't even win in Alaska - somebody needs a hug.

I'll sum up Super Tuesday in one word - wahwhozzit? With only New Mexico still undecided (Obama leads by a mere 71 votes), it's becoming clear that both the popular vote and delegate counts are almost exactly even. Unprecedented and fascinatingly complex. Bomb-throwers are speculating that the Clintons will need to lend millions of THEIR OWN money to the campaign to keep things rolling over the next few weeks while the smattering of contests look to seriously favor Obama. Quite a change from the penny-ante days of Whitewater, eh? Regardless, the whole race is just starting to simmer. Hence the absolutely ridiculous statement from Hillary last night during her "victory" speech that she "won't let anyone Swift-Boat this country's future." I'm not alone in wondering just what to take from that making it to a prime-time speech. Be afraid people. Be very afraid. This is gonna get muddy.

On the GOP side, McCain's a shoo-in. Romney's a bigger flop than this season's New England Patriots. Huckabee's a barely lovable Luddite. And Ron Paul will forever be known by his tattered bumperstickers on pick-ups and second-hand Hummers just like Kucinich is immortalized by similar campaign art on rusting Subarus and bike commuters' paniers from sea to shining sea.

Hope your own Super Humpday is a landslide of fun. Rock on.

The day in between

Post-Super Bowl, pre-Super Tuesday - what a hype-filled moment for our Nation. So I'll take it light and let everyone off the hook. First of all, stunningly good Super Bowl. Given that my team was upset by the Giants, you'd possibly expect that I couldn't bear to watch the game. But I did. And after three rather uneventful quarters, the finale was thrilling. I've already emailed a few friends who are die-hard Giants fans, and they're over the moon. As they should be. A championship well-deserved.

In terms of tomorrow's Primaries, I'm expecting some big surprises. Chris Matthews will blow out a vein in his neck around 8pm, EST. Arianna Huffington's servers will thereafter explode after some doofus spills a $9 bottle of pinot gris amidst a celebratory back-office tryst. Rush Limbaugh will beat a deaf caddy to death with a 7-iron as the early East Coast exit polling hits his Blackberry. James Carville will finally agree to have sex with his wife (?), ending her 2,923rd day of the current dryspell. It should be quite a day, and I can't wait to see what actually happens.

Hope your own robo-calls feature Scarlett Johansson, or at least Jennifer Aniston today. Rock on.