Cat Attack

Big D is acting sheepish. We got into a wrestling match this morning and he ended up leaping off the bed with bits of my flesh dangling from his diggers. He returned fifteen minutes later, mild and questioning. All is forgiven.

Day Seven, no work on the novel. The Dufflebag is home sick.

I'm going to try to use the time wisely, and write my second application essay. I might watch a movie. Clean the house. Drink a cup of tea. Finally get some reading done.

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In a study in the dynamics of idiocy, following an "incident" in which Obama was seen drinking a beer at a basketball game, the media picked up on a few muddleheaded callers phoning in to a sports talk show as a controversy. Scare quotes again, please.

When a handful of dolts object to something or other, it gets covered, as long as it makes a good story. That is, as long as it pushes the right buttons. It's much easier to weigh in on inconsequential topics like whether or not Obama should be able to enjoy a beer while watching the game (the correct answer, for the curious, is YES) than, to, for example, figure out ways of putting the jackals at Webloyalty behind bars.