More McPain

What in the world am I going to write about after the election is over? I don't care -- it's so fascinating and maddening that I can't help myself. On Saturday we had Maureen Dowd's observation about the financial bailout mess:

It was quite a memorable moment in history for the M.B.A. president and the nominee of the party of business. Who would have dreamed that when socialism finally came to the U.S.A. it would be brought not by Bolsheviks in blue jeans but Wall Street bankers in Gucci loafers?

The first debate held no surprises; the real action is in the careening McCain campaign and its redoubtable VP, whose paltry intellectual pantry was stripped bare by the two-fisted Katie Couric last week. This was part 2 of the interview in which Palin claimed foreign-policy know-how because Russia is sorta next to Alaska and you can practically see it 'n' stuff. Yeah, and I can see the moon from my house, but that doesn't make me a fucking astrophysicist. My God, Friday's VP debate... I may have to double up on antidepressants for a few days beforehand. I almost can't bear to watch. As a fruiend once said, it's like a car accident with multipel DOAs -- horrifying but impossible to look away from. Just as long as Biden doesn't fuck up and act condescending; she doesn't need a-a-a-a-a-ny help looking stupid.

Back at the ranch (not the Crawford one)... we baby-sat last night for Z and K's two kids (two months and 2.5 years), and we'll see them two more nights running for Rosh Hashanah dinner swapping. I'd blocked out little details such as the experience of changing a poopy diaper on a toddler. But no matter. Sarah and Becky love them and I'm happy they have cousins about their age who live nearby. Happy new year!

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