The Georgian Word For Saudade

Last night's insomnia involved multiple episodes of Roseanne, still very funny, still very topical. Plus that John Goodman is one sexy guy even if he does weigh 300 lbs. (Yes, I'm serious.)

Meanwhile, we can expect the price of oil to skyrocket once again tomorrow since the Ruskies are targeting the BTC pipeline.

This is bad news for me: yesterday was the first decent Saturday the Little Store had had all summer which I attribute to the sunny weather but also to the fact that the price of gasoline has dropped so much in the last two weeks. Still substantially higher than it was a year ago, of course. But people have trouble remembering that far back. As a nation, we Americans suffer from cultural Alzheimer's. We're trapped in the last five minutes.

Bad news too for TSWSOITC who almost certainly will be forced to return to the States now, child-bride in tow. TSWSOITC is that guy who all his life has been searching for a martyrdom worthy of him. He finally found it, and what happens? It gets obliterated in a war no one saw coming. Fate, she has a cru-ell sense of humor. What's the Georgian word for saudade?

So as I say, we made a ton of money which came as a total shock to me. Ker-plung! Ker-plung! rang the little cash register. People were even fighting over bottles on the shelves!

"I saw it first –"

"No, I did!"

If only I had had the foresight to invest in a few packets of lime jello, I could have charged admission!

You gotta figure the Russian invasion came with the full concurrence of the American government. This is why they told TSWSOITC they were transferring him, and this is why they stalled the NATO membership. Possibly even this is why Dubya was so damn insistent upon going to the Olympic opening ceremonies – what better cover for a tête-à-tête with Vlad? It would make a good plot for a spy novel anyway. Maybe I should dig up the half-completed manuscript of The Harbor Master, write a new ending.

TSWSOITC actually met Dubya on several occasions. Never commented on Dubya's intelligence or lack thereof. No, what struck TSWSOITC the most was Dubya's immense charisma.

It dawns on me that in this age of instant replay, charisma is the one character trait all modern leaders share. But is charisma necessarily a good character trait for political leadership? It infuses the cult of personality into governance issues. I don't think governance always benefits.

The bagpipe guy was playing on the bike trail again. After I closed shop, I listened to him for twenty minutes or so. In the picture above, he is playing some sort of Neapolitan bagpipe. A Huh! moment: I didn't know there'd ever been any sort of indigenous Celtic culture on the Italian peninsula.

He has a really amazing collection of bagpipes from all over the world.

I liked listening to him so much that I scurried back to the store, plucked a bill in a denomination I really couldn't afford to part with from the recently Ker-plung!ing till, ran back and put it in his tip jar.

I am the type of person who on that rapidly depressurizing plane puts the oxygen mask on the three year old to the right of me and the eighty-five year old to the left of me before I secure my own.

No particular virtue in that.

But no stupidity either. It's a very conscious choice.

Having a hard time getting into that story. Maybe I just can't write anymore. He has to be some sort of salesman, right? And I think the dentist is obsessed with the David Jansen Fugitive. During the climactic scene the mad dentist recites the opening voiceover. The rest is a blur.

John Edwards Only Did It So Jay McInerney Could Have His Career Back

Wow. This is kind of interesting: apparently novelist Jay McInerney wrote an entire book about John Edwards' mistress with the weird name. It's called Story of My Life.

Okay. I kind of did like Big City, Bright Lights (or was it Bright City, Big Lights?) even though it was entirely written in the oh-so-annoying second person singular. McInerney can string a sentence together. At times he reminds me of Scott Fitzgerald.

But a Scott Fitzgerald stuck in This Side of Paradise. Jay, Jay, Jay -- the guard changes. You are so fuckin' eighties.

Generally when writers discover they're no longer the cutting edge of youth, they turn into right-wing nutcases. McInerney was no exception.

Rielle Hunter -- and what kind of a fucking name is that? You'd think that any sane man at a party hearing, "My name's Rielle" -- pronounced, I imagine, "real" -- would run, run, run for the nearest exit sign.

I have no problem with the affair. I have something of a problem with his coy insistence that Elizabeth was in remission when it happened. What's implied by that?

If I had given money to Edwards, I'd certainly have a problem with the affair since Rielle Hunter's sinecure was subsidized -- at least at first -- by campaign contributions. At the very least I think Edwards should be forced to return those campaign contributions.

As to the rest of it... Wow, his friends love Edwards so much they acquire a 3.3 million dollar house for his erstwhile mistress? How can I get me some friends like that?