Listening to: “All I Want is You” – Barry Louis Polisar

I hate politics. I don’t like having to pay attention to them, because it’s 95% sleight-of-hand and bullshit. It’s a bad, boring variety show put on by a bunch of egomaniacs mad for power.

Or, in the words of the ireppressable Douglas Adams: “Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.”

But with dear, aw-shucks Edwards out of the race, I’m not really sure who to vote for. Last primary around I was for Dean all the way. That guy is the tits. This time… I don’t know. I can’t seem to find a brief, unbiased account of where Hil and Barack each stand on the issues. This is the closest I could find. I mean, how can you compare and contrast properly when it’s all spin and rhetoric?

But who knows. What kind of universe is it anyway where the Pats can lose the Super Bowl? *Sigh*

Oh well, Tom Brady’s ass is still hotter than all the Giants’ asses put together.

I submitted my one-act play “Thanksgiving” to that playwriting conference in Alaska. I spent two days tweaking the hell out of it, since I wrote it two years ago. I’ll find out in March whether I get accepted. Fingers crossed, kids.

Last night I dreamt that they published “Thanksgiving” in this snazzy hardcover version without telling me. I didn’t know till I came to get it signed by the author and realized that I was supposed to be doing the signing. They had retooled it to be about Jesse James. I think they even called it “Jesse James,” even though it has nothing to do with Jesse James. I tried to tell them, but they said they made the changes for my own good and that I should be happy they took the time to fix it for me. Then they put on a production of it in the basement of a community center, with the entire cast in wheelchairs. It had nothing to do with the original story.

Gotta dig those anxiety dreams.

This post was really the opposite of cohesive.

Oooh, ooh. One more thing. Go see Juno. It is the best ever.

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Hey y’all. Welcome to the other side of yesterday. Also known as: today.

So how about those New Hampshire debates? Saturday night found me huddled around my friend’s TV with at least 20 other people and at least 5 times as many beers, jeering at Huckabee and groaning at Hillary. Let me first say that I HATE politics. Violently so. I only pay attention when I absolutely have to, and a presidential election counts as having to. Dammit.

We made a little drinking game out of the Democrats’ debate. One swig for every time anyone said the word “change,” two swigs for “hope.” It was beyond absurd how many times they said “change.” Here’s the debate, in summation:

OBAMA: I would just like to say that I like change. Change change change.

HILLARY: Yeah, but you don’t like change half as much as I do.

EDWARDS: Bitch, please. I am for hardcore the changiest!

HILLARY: Oh yeah? Where does it say changiest on your record? Cause my record says it at least 4 jillion, if not 5 jillion, times.

HILLARY Unfolds a long ream of paper. Cut to CHELSEA in the audience, smiling angelically. Cut to RICHARDSON, on the verge of tears.

RICHARDSON: Can you guys shut up?

OBAMA: Hush, fat man in the corner. I need to further tell you how changey I am. Once, I changed this one thing SO HARD, it cried.

HILLARY: Oh really, Barack? Cause I could have sworn you changed your opinion on change. How can someone who keeps changing his mind be truly committed to change?

EDWARDS: That’s wicked petty, Hil. Petty, and anti-changey.

HILLARY: Oh, so now you’re taking his side?

EDWARDS: Hey, I’m just standing up for middle-class America.

OBAMA: (singing) Screw the middle classes! I will never accept them! My father’s other family were middle class, and we were kept out of sight, hidden from view, at his funeral…

HILLARY: This display of Lloyd-Webberizing is utterly uncalled for, Barack.

OBAMA: Only people who, like me, believe in change, can really understand Evita on a deeper level. Eva Paron? Changey! Barack Obama? Changey! (Bangs fists on podium) I think I’ve made my point.

RICHARDSON: Could we maybe, um, talk about the economy or something?

EDWARDS: Did anyone just hear a whisper on the wind?

HILLARY: Don’t be foolish, John. We’re indoors. Besides, we’re deviating from the subject at hand—that I, Hillary Clinton, am the changiest. For example—

She begins reading from the ream of paper, but is cut off by OBAMA and EDWARDS singing and dancing to David Bowie’s “Changes.” HILLARY joins in, but repeatedly and purposely stomps on OBAMA’s feet. RICHARDSON sighs heavily and buries his head in his hands.

BLACKOUT.

For a much more relevant take on the debates, check out Chris Faraone’s awesome coverage on the Weekly Dig‘s blog.

Oh, and one more thing: is it just me, or does Ron Paul look like Ian McKellen’s soulless evil twin? Check it out. Here’s Sir Ian:

And here’s Ron:

Those eyes. So black. *Shudders*