My clutch is giving me problems, and the garage — more of an automotive-care emporium, really — is encouraging me to be there as early as possible this morning. As that will require me to be ambulatory, and walking will require coffee, I can blog for as long as it takes me to consume two cups. You get me between sips.
And mostly, you’re getting tasty linkage. Because sleep deprivation is cumulative, you see, and I’m getting about five hours a night, starting on Monday. By Friday, I’m incapable of coherent thought, and so grumpy I WILL CUT A BITCH who gets in my way. You know you’re old when the most exciting thing about your Friday is, you can have two glasses of wine and go to bed at 11.
But as tired and crabby as I am, I’m not incapable of amusement, and friends, let me tell you, the more I learn about Herman Cain, the more amused I am.
It’s possible to believe a national sales tax is probably inevitable and still find Herman Cain’s 9-9-9 Plan — which, I’m sorry, sounds like a pizza special, like $5 footlongs — not just wrong, but ridiculous. Howard Kurtz:
“I can explain it in a minute,” Cain told The Daily Beast. “All taxpayers play by the exact same rules. That’s what people love about it.”
This must be part of his short-attention-span strategy, in which no bill can be longer than five pages, or was it three? Anyway, after I read that story I was perambulating around Facebook, and found this comment on my ex-congressman’s always-entertaining page:
simplified taxes is a great idea, but I am not fond of the idea of 999… flipping it upside down gives you 666… yeah it sounds silly to think that way, but honestly I think I am not the only one that thinks this…
Excuse me? Wha-? I’m so glad I don’t live in Indiana anymore, even while I know there are people who think this way living within a quarter-mile of me here. They’re just less likely to write me letters, and expect to have their lunacy treated respectfully.
Here’s a story from the Center for Michigan that is pretty much the center of all the news I’ve covered on a hyperlocal level: The Big Flush: $180 billion vanishes from Michigan. The real-estate collapse, basically. A large chunk of it was mine, too. Thanks, Wall Street.
While on one level this is the height of professional irresponsibility — i.e., spinning opinions about a medical case where you haven’t even opened the file — that’s what the internet was made for, amirite? And so a Harvard Medical School instructor offers this intriguing idea — that Steve Jobs doomed himself by attempting to treat his pancreatic cancer with “alternative medicine,” allowing it to establish a beachhead, after which, well, we all know the story. As I’m old enough to remember laetrile, this doesn’t sound farfetched to me.
Two cups, gone. I’m ready to fight my way through Oct. 14, 2011. Have a good weekend. I plan to spend a large chunk of it in a prone position, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep. Ah, middle age.