AND WE'RE HAVIN' FUN, WITH NO MONEY

November 6, 2012 9 a.m.

I am not sure what the signficance might be, but I cannot get the Talking Heads song, Stay Up Late out of my head this morning. And that's a hard song to wake up to, with that insidious chorus, "Cute, cute. Little baby. Little pee-pee. Little toes." Maybe those words remind me of Mitt Romney, although I promise I will neither discuss nor reference Romney's putative boy bits. Maybe it's because folks will BE staying up late tonight. M and I have considered a media black-out today, just wake up in the morning and see the cleared smoke.

November 10, 2012

Cooder trying out the snow on the deck. She didn't get far.

Lost that train of thought. And, happily, so very happily, Obama kept his job. We did watch some of the returns, although I find having those talking heads barking at me, and nattering their nabobisms just too much to take. Too much noise. I think all that crap coming at you like a noise version of sand blasting is bad for one's spiritual well-being and possibly other bodily functions.

I am a bit sorry to have missed the process of the Romney campaign having a veritable come-to-Jesus experience and realizing that wishful thinking and denial do not get you relocated to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. My mom said it was interesting to watch how quiet they all were. All out of bombast, were they? She said it was if they were thoughtfully digesting their loss.

The meeting of the seasons.

Not entirely, of course, as His Oleaginous Balloonity, Karl Rove, poster boy for the shiny and constipated, is accusing the Democrats of supressing the vote. Now, I do not, for a single moment, imagine that the Democrats are any less perfidious and machinating than the Republicans, but this I do not believe for a nano-moment. Can't he buy a car wash or something and get the hell out of politics? On the other hand, I guess his keeping his obnoxiousness is plain sight is good so that his perfidy is more or less being monitored.

I could go on but I should do the carpe diem thing and head to the farmer's market. Only one week left and it closes down for the season. Boo-hoo.

The reservoir/bike path after the snow.

(In other tangential news, some good eating 'round these parts. This week I made a roast chicken stuffed with lemon, garlic, and rosemary and a light maple glaze, Marcella Hazan's Minestrone, Lidia Caggiano's Tuscan Onion Soup, and a batch of Sullivan Street No-Knead Bread. I'm retiring for the weekend now.)

Nice sunset.