Oh spare me your fatalistic baloney.
I have been the victim of a number of fatalistic communications of late.

If I hear one more "there's nothing we can do about it now" or "it's too late" I will kick a puppy (well I won't. But if I did someone would probably say "the puppy's kicked, there's nothing we can do about it now").

I'd like to put in a word for getting up off your ass. There *is* something you can do about it. It is *not* too late. Your ass may want to stay comfortable and lazy and warm--your ass will lie to you.

When did regret become so desirable?

A quick word about the Iowa caucus:
Iowa is ONE state. I am glad for Mr. Edwards (and particularly interested in his 'Iowa deal' with Kucinich) but as Bono says "slowly, slowly love." Doesn't anyone look at the big picture anymore? That picture. Over there. The one that says "There are days beyond tomorrow". Indeed.

If I'm gonna go down, you're gonna come with me.

I'm starting it up again. New slate and all. I'm feeling wordy and the Howard Dean thing is quite out of control. But, I have been having the most wonderful dreams.

The blog will be updated as frequently as I can make it. Sometimes it'll be once or twice a day. Sometimes not. I'm still in a state of flux but will be settling down and you'll be able to sense a rhythm.

While you're waiting--don't read Pablo Neruda. Instead, I should like you to listen obsessively to Elvis Costello's "This Year's Model".

Do return soon. There is something so comforting about devotion. This week I plan to pontificate on Secrets and Cheshire Cats.

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