Adrift

This is the first Saturday morning at home for me since early April. [For those who are new to Ocean, I occasionally moonlight at the restaurant, L’Etoile, and this past season I did Market shopping for them every Saturday.]

I cannot get myself to look at the news. I’m sure I’ll read something like "Can Bush Deliver a Conservative Supreme Court?" and I’ll wish I were talking to the farmers instead of sitting with a computer perched on my lap.

Maybe I should revisit old allies (that word!) over at the Progressive. Here we go – Molly Ivins has posted her December piece in which she writes:

Of course, I'm devastated by the news John Ashcroft is leaving. Do you think we'll see tits on statues in Washington once more? [referring to Ashcroft’s prudish request to not be photographed by a statue that had a certain degree of nakedness about it]

Unfortunately, Ivins gets graphic in her speculations on what the next years will feel like for Americans. Consider this excerpt:

My friend John Henry Faulk always said the way to break a dog of that habit [of chasing and killing chickens in the yard] is to take one of the chickens the dog has killed and wire the thing around the dog's neck, good and strong. And leave it there until that dead chicken stinks so bad the dog won't be able to stand himself. You leave it on there until the last little bit of flesh rots and falls off, and that dog won't kill chickens again.

The Bush Administration is going to be wired around the neck of the American people for four more years, long enough for the stench to sicken everybody. It should cure the country of electing Republicans.

That’s a tough one to take with your breakfast granola and café au lait.

Maybe I could just go outside and shut the yard down for the winter. Good idea.