Bad News Blog!
“Preliminary results from a survey of married couples suggest that disputing husbands and wives who hold in their anger die earlier than expressive couples.”
The wee wife likes to give me a thunk on the side of the head with her forefinger occasionally. However, she being shorter than I, the thunk requires that I be sitting down. Which is why I spent much of my married life upstanding, which I believe also has aerobic benefits.
News from Davos!
“World Economic Forum wraps up with warnings for 2008.”
Rambo is back!
Rambo? Rambo. I mean, really…. Rambo? The Alvin and the Chipmunk movie was bad enough, but Rambo?
The New York Times raves: “…the movie does have its own kind of blockheaded poetry.”
Bill Clinton is back!
Ranting and raving, getting all red in the face, reminding voters everywhere that if Hillary is elected President, Bill will be there too. Little tiny winces come over me.
End of American power, in this week's NYT Sunday Magazine
“So now, rather than bestriding the globe, we are competing — and losing — in a geopolitical marketplace alongside the world’s other superpowers: the European Union and China. This is geopolitics in the 21st century: the new Big Three. … The Big Three make the rules — their own rules — without any one of them dominating. And the others are left to choose their suitors in this post-American world.”
Does this mean the word “hegemony” will disappear from editorials? That would be an upside.
Blair Witch Project meets Godzilla. Why did anybody think this was a good idea?
The Tears of Hillary
I did not see the video. I did not dare. I only heard the event on the radio. But there was a catch in Hillary’s voice, was there not, one never caught before? It was not her husband’s catch, a catch we have heard many times. It was her own catch. And the catch was caught, and played and replayed after the phenomenon, back in those cold New Hampshire days. We hunched around our radios, enemies and fans and the indifferent alike, listening to her voice, suddenly soft, suddenly vulnerable, suddenly fragile, suddenly tentative. But was it a false catch? Like the peculiar often-inappropriate half smile frequently presented by President Bush, was her catch a nervous tic, a deliberate attempt to endear herself to us, or an actual semi-meltdown?
And what of the tear itself? Did it exist? Observers vary in their opinions. Time has passed. The mystery deepens. Teams of experts watch the video in slow motion, stopping it and starting it, blowing up stills, examining each frame with magnifying glasses. Did Hillary tear up? If she did, was her tear the result of exhaustion, or allergies? Was it spontaneous liquid combustion? Was it a calculated sob, practiced for hours late at night in front of strange hotel room mirrors? Was it an artificial droplet, artfully applied? Only Hillary and her conscience know.
Go to YouTube. See for yourself. Watch the glistening. Not even a glistening, more of a precursor to a glisten. It might even be a trick of light. There may be nothing there. But if there is - and so many seek it still - we do not know if it was the liquid diamond of sorrow, or a spectrumless prism, a transparent portal to an empty soul.
In hope and fear, we await the results of the studies. Lachrymologists, and bloggers, and those who can accurately take the measure of our bodies’ excretions, all assemble their findings. And we poor voters, mining our own dusty ducts for the last vestiges of fear and grief, we wonder. This mythical teardrop, is it the lonely teardrop of a poor lorn Tammy, or the crocodile tear of a suicide blonde? Is her tear the Iran of body secretions, or the lost Eden of forgotten innocence?
All we know is this: if the tear is real, it will not be kissed away. The floodgates could open. If that happens, will the tears of Hillary heal a nation, or destroy the world? Get out your handkerchiefs, America. Only time will tell. And history will write the answer in its own tears. Or its own blood. Or its own…. whatever. What were we talking about again?