Dear God, Please Make it Stop

No, not the commentary on the State of the Union, though that's more than enough to spark a long, dull headache. Is there a more tired, tedious and sincerity-free display of political pageantry in this country than that pointless speech? The pathetic attempt at oratory, the solemn assembly, the gratuitous applause -- Molière would have loved it. But it doesn't stop there, of course. For days afterward, the guardians of public speech scrutinize the text like biblical exegetes, pretending that it's not simply faux-statesmanly words put in the mouth of a transparent mountebank by his proganda apparatus. America, the new Ibansk.

Even worse at the moment, however, is the incessant rain. Normally we get five inches in January. This year? Eleven. I'm going to start saving up to have Norman Foster build one of these over our house.

Back in Vermont there was a certain kind of headache I'd get from sun on snow on a bright, clear day. I'd happily have one of those right now.