I walked around all morning wondering why the day was feeling so … spacious. I had work lined up for the afternoon, grocery-shopping before lunch, including my new favorite stop, Costco. (Giant bags of coffee beans! Yogurt by the pallet! Back up to that freight entrance and GIVE ME SOME PAPER TOWELS, goddamnit. I redefine “drunken sailor” in Costco.)
Then I came home, and remembered: I neglected my little community of dozens. Forgiveness, please.
It’s Election Day, and I did my civic duty. There was one (1) race on the ballot. School board, non-partisan, two candidates. Vote for this guy or that guy. I voted for this guy. My polling place uses an optical-scan method, in which great pains are taken to preserve the secrecy of your ballot; it gets a little modesty shield that keeps it hidden from eyes until it’s fed into the machine, which seems a little silly in a this guy/that guy primary, but I’m sure I’ll come to appreciate it one of these elections.
So, on to the bloggage:
Scarlett Johansson can’t spell “harassed,” but that’s OK — neither could I at her age. Scarlett, because I know you read this: The mnemonic I use is “her ass,” which should be easy for you, of all people, to remember. I saw your ass 40 feet high in the opening shot of “Lost in Translation.”
My old colleague Mike Harden always had a way with a joke: My Appalachian roots make me glad I’m a newspaper journalist instead of a TV reporter. Were I the latter, my career would have ended the night I glanced up at a teleprompter story about Muslim unrest in the Mideast and tried to pronounce Shiite. More on the peculiar dialects of Ohio here. If only he could hear Michigan accents for a while.
And that, friends, is today’s lazy, flabby entry! Let’s hope for something better tomorrow.