Sarah Palin, Vice President?

So, John McCain announced his running mate, and it is Sarah Palin, Governor of Alaska. Huh. I'm not quite sure what to think about this. On the one hand, hooray for a potential lady VP, but on the other, more truthful and accurate hand, BOO. I mean, "boo" to the whole idea of John McCain as president, obviously, but also, WTF? She is crazy-anti-abortion. She wants to open the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge for more drilling. SHE HATES POLAR BEARS AND WANTS TO KEEP THEM OFF THE ENDANGERED ANIMALS LIST SO SHE CAN STILL HUNT THEM. Seriously, America? We're going to elect a polar bear hater to the office of vice president? I don't think so.

Also, for all those thinking, "yes, those are reasonable arguments, I don't agree with polar bear haters, but be realistic - she'll never have any REAL power, as VP she'd be a figurehead at best..." just remember that John McCain is older than the Crypt Keeper. John McCain is so old he doesn't EMAIL. And if John McCain got elected, then dropped dead during his term, we'd be stuck with a polar bear hater for the next couple years. A crazy, beehive-wearing, choice-denying polar bear hater. Think on that, America.

On the plus side, I guess this totally undoes John McCain's "Obama is too inexperienced to lead" argument. Obviously experience isn't as important to him as he led us to think, if he's willing to take on a woman as VP whose most extensive political experience has been as the mayor of a town of 800 people.

P.S. I'm not totally sure about this, but I think I heard that she's under investigation for firing Alaska's public safety commissioner when he refused to fire her ex-brother-in-law at her request.

P.P.S. I do, however, think she deserved props for a)being the first Republican female nominee and b) giving birth to a child with Downs syndrome and being back to work some ridiculously soon time after. This doesn't mean I like her, or that I want her to become president and kill all the polar bears. I just have to be fair and acknowledge that those are impressive feats. As isbeing an Alaskan beauty queen, which is something she is also famous for.

P.P.P.S This is the last of my blog posts that will be sent to your email addresses, folks. I've been trying to find a way to just automatically send you an email every time I update without sending the whole post, but I can't seem to figure it out. Instead, I'm going to start sending a big email from my own email address to you guys when I post. If you don't see an email from me in a while, though, check back here - I'll probably be posting blog entries and just forgetting to email you.

Baby, you can drive my car (except you can't, because it is government property)

So the nice folks here at Grey Towers have been utterly fooled by my suspiciously capable attitude toward cars and have actually decided to let me operate government vehicles. Crazy, right? And I even told them about the time I hit the $90,000 Mercedes two hours after I had gotten my license and they weren't fazed! I didn't, however, mention my talent at bursting tires - that seemed like a discussion for a later time.

Still, yesterday I was tooling around back and forth from the mansion to the archives storage in a snazzy Jeep Patriot (and have you ever heard of a more jingoistic car? Why don't they just call it the Jeep "I love America more than you, pinko commie terrorist!"?), and I felt very powerful, and also a little like The Man. I had my uniform on, my big government SUV even had the Forest Service seal on it, and I had keys jangling at my hip that could unlock every door in the park. And a radio! It doesn't get more The Man than that.*

I kept hoping to come along some kids graffitti-ing something so I could park my truck, slowly get out, and saunter coolly over to them, all the while peering out menacingly over the rim of my aviators. And then I'd say authoritatively, "you kids know you're messing with government property, which is a felony?" Of course, I don't know if it is or isn't (I'm thinking isn't), and of course I couldn't speak authoritatively to a chipmunk, much less a human being, so this is where the fantasy starts to fall apart.

I don't think I'm actually cut out to be The Man, if only because my 1960's counter-revolutionary high school teachers would be appalled. Still, the car is pretty neat.

*Okay, so a gun would have helped the image, but no one here would be stupid enough to entrust me with fire arms.

Coming soon to a tv set near you

So today I might, just might have been scanning photos of Gifford Pinchot and his various forestry activities for a noted public television documentarian. Yes, that noted public television documentarian.* Who is doing a documentary on the national parks. And needs photographs. Of Gifford Pinchot. Photographs scanned by me. I'M FAMOUS.

No, but really, I'm inordinantly excited by my brush with intellectual-Americana fame. When you see the national parks documentary on PBS (and I know you will, you Teddy Roosevelt fans) just remember me and my tiny insignificant role in bringing it to your television set.

*You know who I'm talking about: he directed The Civil War, and Jazz, and Baseball, and The War, and is the king of PBS.

Down home on the farm

As I've mentioned before, Grey Towers is located in the cute little hamlet of Milford, PA. I don't think I've ever lived anywhere so charming, and having been in both North Berkeley and Decatur, GA, I think that is saying something. But really, this place is amazing. Beautiful historic houses, shady streets, friendly neighbors... the works. What makes it even better, though, is that it isn't all gingerbread trim and well-groomed lawns. Yeah, there are a lot of summer residents who raise the value of the property and bring things like organic free-range eggs and absurdly expensive restaurants to town, but there are enough locals with dirty pickups living in crumbling Victorians with Mets flags outside to make the town feel real and alive. Unfortunately I haven't had a chance to take pictures of all the buildings and neighborhoods (all 1 and 1/2 of them) that I love, but here is a preview:


Cute sign, right? Also, the town was officially founded twenty years after America declared independence. I'm not sure, but I think that might make it the oldest place I've ever lived.

While I do not have pictures of Milford just yet, I do have a couple of Grey Towers and my farmhouse. Here is Grey Towers from the path that winds from the parking pavilion to the house. (To get from my house to the mansion, I trample through the woods until I hit the pavilion, and then I join the footpath and make my way up. It is a pretty easy commute, but sometimes the traffic gets ugly when the squirrels start going at it.)


The angle of the picture keeps you from seeing it, but that ivy covers the wall that forms the moat. Yes, Grey Towers has a moat. It doesn't go all the way around the house, unfortunately, but still... a moat! Also, that weird brown blob in the middle of the second story is a bust of Lafayette. The Pinchot's were French - Gifford's grandfather and great-grandfather were huge supporters of Napoleon who got out while the going was good once they saw that the Bourbons were going to be restored. The design of Grey Towers is actually based on Lafayette's chateau, Le Grange.

As to why it is called Grey Towers, find out for yourself:


WHY YES, WE DO HAVE TURRETS. My favorite architectural feature EVER, probably due to too many viewings of Beauty and the Beast as a young child. The third floor tower room is right near my office, and when I need to do some reading, (you know, like a historic structure report, or the historic furnishings list, or maybe a complete account EVERY item Cornelia Pinchot ever purchased - your usual light entertainment reading) I like to hide out up there in the big easy chair. I've only nodded off once.

When I'm not vacuuming historic furnishings or reading old receipts in a turret, I spend my free time in the farmhouse on the property. It is apparently the oldest structure still standing in the park, and it predates Grey Towers by a good fifty+ years. It isn't worth taking pictures of the inside, which was gutted 20 years ago and re-done in industrial-housing chic, but the outside is pretty great.


Here is the large porch. The window on the left is my bedroom window, and to the right is the kitchen. My housemate Shannon has the upstairs bedroom.

And here is the side that you see (sort of) when you come up the road:


And this is my BACKYARD:


The creek runs right behind the house, and for the first couple days I always thought it was raining outside because of the noise.

Finally, I want you to meet the newest resident of the farmhouse, Sadie:


Sadie is shiny and red. Sadie is beautiful. Sadie is also a piece of crap bicycle. But she's MY piece of crap bicycle, and considering that I walked five miles to the closest Wal-Mart to buy her, I'm feeling pretty attached. Which is actually a shame, given that she doesn't seem too attached to me. Or at least that is what her unwillingness to shift gears and tendancy to try to throw me off of her rocking seat when we go over the smallest bump seems to say. Still, old men always compliment me on my "neat ride" when I take her into town, so I guess there is a silver lining to the bicycle debacle.

Shoshana vs.The Insects, round one

Old houses set into expansive well-manicured grounds surrounded by rolling hills and verdant forests attract a lot of things. Retirees, school-children, antiquers, minivans, the fanny-packed: these are all examples of the types of creatures who are drawn inside of Grey Towers by the allure of old furniture, older stone, and the chance to look at a rich man's water closet. But do you know what else is attracted to old houses? BUGS. All that delicious wood and textiles, the lovely nooks and crannies that are just perfect for setting up a webbed house, the dark hulking furniture and hugeness of the structure, the fabulous damp that rises up through the flagstones; these and more are all good reasons for the creepy-crawlies of the world to migrate to Grey Towers and play house. A large portion of historic housekeeping and preventative conservation is battling bugs. Today, I was on the front lines.

My first skirmish was with two spiders I found lurking in the fireplace of the Great Hall. Large and thin, they were hiding out under the grate. I went at them with a plastic cup and a peice of Grey Towers paper paraphanalia (all I had near me at the time, and time was of the essence so I couldn't run to get better equipment.) Fittingly, the newsletter was about invasive bug species in the area. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough, and one got away completely while the other crawled to an area I couldn't get at.

Then there was the large beetle-like creature that scurried past me on my way to the visitors desk to drop off the bug-catching materials I had borrowed from them. I yelped when I saw it and dove to get the little bugger, but he was too fast. I was disappointed, but reminded myself that he was on the visitor's office side of the carpet and thus technically not crossing the border into historic room territory, where he could do real damange.

My final encounter was with a moth, who was fluttering weakly on the old oak staircase leading from the Great Hall to the second floor. As his wings flapped lethargicallyI saw my opportunity and pounced, catching him in the plastic-cup-grave I had intended for the spiders. Feeling accomplished but strangely sad (I suppose I feel some sympathy for my fallen enemies), I carried him up to the curatorial office on the third floor for my boss to see.

So, here is the count: Bugs-2, Shoshana-1. But never fear... they'll be dropping like flies (pun!) on Friday when I bring out the VACUUM.

In other animal notes: I saw a black bear yesterday! He scampered across the parking lot in front of the curatorial storage building while I sat in the government SUV next to my boss, who pointed and yelled, "BEAR!" It was probably the highlight of my day.

And the job begins

This morning I started my first real curatorial/historic-upkeep job, by dusting. Yes, dusting. Still, dusting is important to historic collections. In fact, it can be argued that regular cleaning can do more to preserve historic objects than any preservation attempt made after the damage. I dusted in the Great Hall, the main entrance to the house and the room that is probably most prone to dust. The dangerous combination of visitors tromping in and out (and touching things they shouldn't and adjusting knick-knacks AND SITTING ON THE ANTIQUE CHIPPENDALES, arrgghh!) and heavy dark wood furniture that shows everything means that it requires the most work. It was surprisingly fun - working my way around the very valuable furniture. duster in gloved hand, being extra careful and precise so as not to damage anything. I felt like I was doing Important Work, when really I'm just a glorified housekeeper.

I imagine that it will become boring after a while, though, even if I only have to dust and swiffer every couple days, so I have taken to naming the furniture I work on. So far I have Balthazar (a big 19th century European chest/hutch thing, hulking and intricately carved), Armando (named so because he is an armoire of sorts, matching in style to Balthazar) and the Bobbsy Twins (two elaborate throne chairs with velvet upholstery and faces of important historical figures carved into the wood around the back. ) I'm still working on a name for a blue-green painted cabinet brought back from the South Pacific in the 1920s, so any suggestions would be welcome.

My girl Cornelia

I'm spending the next three months working as a curatorial intern at Grey Towers, a national historic site in Milford, PA. Grey Towers was the summer home and personal headquarters for Gifford Pinchot, the first Chief of the U.S. Forest Service and twice-elected governor of PA. You'll be hearing a lot about old Giff and his lovely home (and it is truly lovely) from me over the next three months, but for now I want to talk about my newest best friend: Gifford's wife, Cornelia Bryce Pinchot.

Cornelia Bryce was the type of girl people (generally old genial grandfathers with pipes and smoking jackets, at least in my imagination) would have referred to as a "firecracker" one hundred years ago. They would have said, gleefully yet still patronizingly, that she had "moxie." I'm free, however, to call her what she was: one bad-ass lady on a mission.

Born in 1881 during a time when women were elevated on pedestals of purity even as they were denied basic democratic rights, she resented her parents for denying her an education, talked politics and smoked cigars with the men, and refused to marry until she was 33. She was also a suffragette - on Friday my job was to sort through and scan old photographs of Cornelia, and one of my favorites is her at the front of an army of women carrying American flags and signs reading "Pennsylvania Woman Suffrage Association."

When she finally did marry it was to Gifford Pinchot, a man 15 years her senior who respected her intelligence and was more than happy to let her use their collective wealth (a great deal of it hers) to further her political and social goals. And further them she did. She campaigned heavily for her husband when he ran for governor, and as first lady of Pennsylvania she got involved in policy issues concerning child labor and sweatshops. In fact, during Pinchot's second term as governor (interrupted by a break because in PA governors were banned from succeeding themselves) she even traveled to New York to take part in a labor strike against a factory that refused to let its employees (mostly women and children) unionize.

Cornelia wasn't nearly as successful as she was enthusiastic. She ran for Congress twice, losing both times both because she was a woman but also because her campaign was more idealistic than it was political savvy. Still, a lady representative in 1925ish? Awesome. She also founded her own free experimental school for Pennsylvania's children, adamantly campaigned for child labor laws, and was the tackiest interior decorator ever. The majority of the Grey Tower interiors that we have conserved (or reconstructed to the best of our ability) in the house are interiors that she designed when she moved in, and man, are they silly. Every time I walk past the painted-marble treatment on the walls of the sitting room or duck under one of the enormous elk heads that she mounted at the entry, I giggle and imagine Cornelia crying out at the movers or painters in her posh East Coast accent, "NO, I want them to look MORE noble, more impressive - make them appear HUGE!" And then she probably kicked them out of the house in frustration and just did the job herself. She was delightfully tacky, and her heavy-handed approach to interior design pops up unrepentantly throughout the house.

So, Cornelia Bryce Pinchot. Feminist, rabble-rouser, unapologetically brash and unsubtle, and my favorite thing about Grey Towers (so far.)

All This Could Have Been Avoided If Only You'd Have Listened to Me

This is an old post from when I got back from Australia. I found it in my drafts folder, so I guess I never got around to publishing it. It is pretty ancient but it has some gems, and since I might not be posting anything for a while (there is apparently NO internet in the backwoods of PA... also, we can communicate with other people and towns when the visibility is good enough to see the smoke signals. And we gather around the town square to listen to the one Victrola play ragtime music) I figured this might be fun to read. So here you go: a belated edition of "All This Could Have Been Avoided if Only You'd Have Listened to Me:"

I think its time for me to make a list (as I am wont to do) of all the things I'm not totally okay with here in the U.S. This list will only include changes that occured while I was on a different continent, because listing all the flaws of my great country is a much more laborious task than I am currently up to. So here it is, Mistakes America Made While I Wasn't Watching:

1. Veronica Mars - or rather, the cancelling of it. Yes, it had some rough patches. And sure, it didn't get the best ratings. But let me tell you, when it was good it was great. Teen noir? Nancy Drew with an attitude problem? Extraordinarily emo biker gangs? Does it get any better than this? We'll never find out, of course, because the scrooges over at the CW didn't care enough to try to revive what might have been the only quality show on their network.

2. No Universal Health Care - so I know that when I left America we didn't have it, and so I shouldn't be surprised that we don't have it now. Somehow, though, I forgot all about our tortuous health care system while I was abroad. I got to tell you, though, that it sure was wonderful to know that I could waltz into any clinic anywhere in Australia and not have to pay a cent for my treatment. Unfortunately, though, the rest of the citizenry of the great U.S. will never get to experience that wild sensation. No, they'll have to go through the complicated process of referrals and reimbursments and the never-ending phone conversations with insurance carriers - that is, of course, if they're insured to begin with.

3. The New Cheeseboard Pizza - Yes, I know its bigger. I know it can accomodate more people. I know it can be a more pleasant place to eat. But damnit, half the point of going to Cheeseboard pizza was for the experience of waiting in the cramped line, sweating from the heat of the ovens and worrying that your eardrums were going to pop from the volume of the live jazz band playing in a space approximately the same size as your closet. That long, hot, drawn-out process made the feeling of picking up your pizza and settling down into the busy traffic-median greenway so much more enjoyable. Without it, I'm just not sure if its the same place.

4. Driving - So here is the thing: every time you get behind the wheel of your enormous hunk of moving metal and turn on the ignition, you are reaffirming the social contract. This contract is long and complicated, but at its most simple it means that you will respect the rights of other people to exist and get to where they need to go and that to do that you will make eye contact, acknowledge other cars, and generally act like a considerate human being. In return, other drivers agree to do the same, ensuring that the social contract is fulfilled and the circle of life moves forward. But this doesn't work if some people don't bother with it. OH MY GOD PEOPLE RESPECT THE SOCIAL CONTRACT. Seriously! I know I'm not a fabulous driver but if one more jerk in a giant SUV tries to run me off the road or honks at me for stopping at a freaking STOP SIGN, I will cut a bitch. DO NOT TEST ME.

5. Scooter Libby - did Bush really commute his sentence? Really? So not only was he the administration's fall guy, but he didn't even have to fall that far. Thats so messed up.

Of course, there are lots of things I love about America: our rocking Constitution, democracy (I still believe in it!), turning right on red lights, choosing from eight million brands of peanut butter in the grocery store, and so on. But really - lets get our act together on the health insurance. And the social contract. And if someone could find a way to resuscitate Veronica Mars, I'd marry them.

I attempt to keep up with technology, even amidst the panic of packing

See Shoshi move. See Shoshi freak out about packing. Pack, Shoshi, pack! See Shoshi worry about packing too much, and then panic at the thought of only bringing one pair of boots. See Shoshi start an internship in the glorious backcountry of Pennsylvania. Cling to your guns and your religion, Shoshi!

See Shoshi video-blog:

Would you like some letterpress with your handmade paper?

I've spent the last six (?) weeks working at an awesome place, run by awesome people, and I've decided to tell the internets about it.

Twig & Fig is a custom letterpress studio in Berkeley on Vine and Walnut (they are kitty-corner to the goofy cupcake place in Walnut Square.) We design and print custom wedding invites, bar/bat invites, do personal stationary, business cards, etc. We letterpress almost all aspects of the copy and images on the product, which means using a lot of old and supercool machinery. And I say "we" when I write all this because until three days ago, I worked there. And it was the most enjoyable summer job I've ever had.

No, really - paper is interesting, and letterpress is beautiful, and working with interesting and beautiful materials in a pleasant environment with fun and engaging people can apparently make being employed so much more enjoyable than I ever would have imagined.

I'm leaving for Pennsylvania for three months tomorrow, so I thought I'd post a few pictures (and a little surprise) to remember T&F by:


This is the design studio/kitchen/break room (that is my Coke Zero on the table!) and also a great shot of Suzie's back as she does important design-y work. Suzie is a co-owner of Twig & Fig with her husband, Serge. They are both very neat people (neat as in cool, not neat as in organized, although they are).


Below is where T&Fers meet with clients to discuss jobs or show off the pretty, pretty things they have made.


Twig & Fig's primary business is making beautiful custom invitations and stationary, but they also have a storefront that sells a mishmash of things—mostly letterpressed materials and other stationary-related goods. When I wasn't working on production for a job I sometimes manned the store. We got a lot of customers coming in and getting huffy because maybe we didn't have the exact Moleskine they wanted or perhaps I was on the phone with a client and couldn't help them immediately. There was always the temptation to look them in the eye and go, "listen, pal, you are small potatoes. The person on the phone wants two hundred wedding invitations encrusted with crystals and printed on paper woven from the wool of a baby lamb, and you want to buy a five dollar card. Surely you see the difference?" But, of course, I said nothing of the sort. Because, as we all know, I am the soul of sweetness and light. The store really is fun, though, and the stuff in it is beautiful:


Behind the storefront is the print shop, where the actual production of a job is done. There are two printing presses - one from 1890 and one from 1973. Surprisingly, Serge does most of the printing on the 1890 press, and it is a beauty to watch in action.


I spent a lot of time back here, working on all manner of projects. I have become the master of the adhesive gun, and midieval scribes cower at my wax-sealing skills. Also, I am a mean envelope maker:


The printing press makes quite a racket in the print shop, but it becomes soothing after a while, the steady chu-chunk chu-chunk of the machine setting the pace for the room. Here is Serge, running the press (hint: this is a moving picture):


So that was my summer, spent frolicking among the response cards and "directions to our special events" sheets. Thank you to Suzie, Serge, Holly and Michelle for making sure I had an amazing summer. Everyone else, be sure to visit T&F sometime soon, if only to nag the girl at the counter about Moleskine notebooks.

Compliment or criticism? You decide.

For the second time this week, my grandmother told me I looked like Julia Roberts' character in Pretty Woman. The good part: hey, Julia Roberts! America's Sweetheart! The bad part: a prostitute! A really sluttily-dressed prostitute! (as opposed to all those prudish whores.) So, compliment or criticism?

Project Runway runs away with my heart

OMG KEITH USED TO BE A COMPETITIVE GYMNAST. Now how am I supposed to take the gay Mormon designer from Salt Lake City seriously? Also, Stella the biker designer is AWESOME. She insists on designing in black, even for Olympic athletes. After all, "a lot of bikers in the U.S. watch the Olympics." And I think I want to grow up to be Kenley. I don't even mind her terrible horse-giggle.

My grandmother refuses to watch Project Runway - after seeing ten minutes of it she declared it "one of those dirty shows." I don't really know what she means by that, but I'm not sure she knows either.

When did Kevin Spacey stop being awesome and start being weird?

Kevin Spacey always had that smart-alecky, off-kilter, cute-because-he-might-be-crazy thing going on for him, but man, he is freaking me out lately. I mention this because tonight I watched 21. While normally mediocre films about math-geeks-turned-lounge-lizards (I do love the hyphen) aren't my cup of tea (give me shit blowing up any day), my friend is recovering from major surgery and isn't allowed to leave the house (or, for that matter, wash her own hair) so we made do with what she had at her place. Which was, apparently, Step Up 2: The Streets, and 21. I voted for Step Up 2, obvi, but was outvoted by her boyfriend. Apparently he can't stand redemptive tales of dance, love, and straight-thuggery. Hater.

But ANYWAY, back to Kevin Spacey. 21 was, as I thought, unspectacular. Yeah, Jim Sturgess (sp?) is adorable, and for once the sight of Kate Bosworth didn't give me sympathy hunger pains (but man, someone needs to give that girl a milkshake!) but for a movie all about cheating the Man in Vegas, it lacked the polish and devil-may-care attitude to carry itself off. Also, as mentioned before, Kevin Spacey was FREAKING ME OUT. He was all loud yelling and fast talking, but not in a fun menacing way. Instead from the get-go I was worried about him. Like I kept on wanting to yell at the screen, "no Jim Sturgess, step away from the freaky old guy with the receding hair line! He is too angry and volatile too early on in the script! This can only lead to trouble!"

There really isn't any point to this post. Mostly I'm just concerned for Kevin Spacey, and I want to express that worry. Has he lost his touch? Has his mastery of the fine line between awesome-creepy and stop-looking-at-me-creepy slipped? I've decide to blame his downward spiral on that stupid Bobby Darin biopic. Because that was straight up, total creep-time, and I think he's probably never recovered.

Apple pie for the win!

Last Thursday I took the train into San Francisco after work (more on that later) for a cooking class at Sur La Table. It was awesome, in a bougie "we take our food too seriously" sort of way. Sur La Table fans probably take weekend trips to Copia. Like me.

ANYWAY: originally I was supposed to take the class offered by a Top Chef contestant, but I was pretty sure I couldn't make it and when I realized that he'd been kicked off pretty early in the season I was totally over him. If Tom Colicchio hates him, why would I bother?

No, but really, "Summer Pies and Tarts" was awesome. Sixteen people were enrolled and when we partnered up to bake pies I scored big time with Zack, an adorable Sephora employee who was extraordinarily enthusiastic about baked goods. We christened ourselves "Team Us" and promptly kicked apple pie ass. In total, the class baked three different apple pies, fruit tarts, and a chocolate espresso pie. My apple pie, along with the little apple galettes we made with the extra pie filling, are below:



In other baking news, my mother made the fancy schmancy New York Times chocolate chip cookies (you know, the recipe that circulated the web for a week, causing all internet users to automatically gain five pounds) this weekend and OMG THEY WERE AMAZING. The kosher salt sprinkled on top and the extra hours the dough spent hanging out with the eggs and Chinese leftovers in the fridge made all the difference. Give them a try, people. Your arteries will not thank you, but your tastebuds will.

Are people talking about this?

Maybe I'm really late to this conversation (so late that it is ending by the time I come ambling up?) but it seems like people aren't really talking about the original Mrs. McCain. Not Cindy the Malibu Beach Barbie - the Mrs. McCain who lost the title after she suffered a traumatic car accident that disfigured her face and figure.

I was never going to vote for him, but I can remember a time when I liked him. The Carly-Fiorina-birth-control fiasco, coupled with the whole "Obama is a celebutante" campaign line have changed that, and this doesn't help one bit. I guess even "mavericks" cheat on their wives?

Nothing better on a Saturday night that flipping back and forth between True Lies and I Love Money on VH1. Ooh, a Barack Obama speech on CNN!
I don't think I'm cut out for liveblogging anything, even my lame couch adventures.
In other news, Lizz and Isaac came to town, and suddenly I have bangs. Crazy things happen when they visit.