Final Debate Recap

In case you missed the last big debate, here are some highlights.

As you may know, McCain, ever sensitive to racial stereotypes, declared yesterday that he was a-goin' to "whip his you-know-what." Here's McCain during debate prep.

Here they are during the actual debate. Schieffer's just asked them what stuff they're going to have to give up because the economy's totally screwed.

Here McCain finally makes his move, hitting Obama on hanging around with Bill Ayers, who blew some shit up and stuff during the 1960s, when Obama was working on his times tables and we were having another stupid war.

Obama pretty much responds, dude...what? Are you high?

The big move fizzled, and then McCain talked a lot about the American people being scared and angry. (In other words, projection.) And he said Sarah Palin's a bitchin' babe who digs puppies. CBS's snap poll shows Obama winning 53% to 22%. (The remaining percentage was in the restroom or too drunk to respond after playing the "my friends" drinking game.)

Finally, here's a last, fond shot of McCain immediately after the debate.

The end. Now, let go vote and get this sucker over with.

Good Times

The McCain people have been swaggering about, claiming Obama's already been "measuring the drapes" in the White House (like he doesn't have better things to do), but, in fact, all presidential candidates have a "transition team" in place in case they actually win. McCain does, for instance, and it turns out his head transition dude has plenty of experience working for cranky old guys who know what it's like kill people and stuff:

McCain Transition Chief Aided Saddam In Lobbying Effort

That's not change we can believe in, my friends.

Gravity is Not Your Friend

So it's like this: one Sunday, I got up and my back was a little creaky. It's always given me trouble--when I was 16, I managed to fall off a house I was roofing, and it's been a bit weird ever since. So much for working with my hands. Anyway, by midday Monday, I realized something was a little more wrong than expected; I couldn't sit through the day. I went to my doctor on Tuesday, figuring it'd be, oh yeah, it's out of alignment, crunch, here's a couple prescriptions and remember to bend your knees. The usual drill every three to five years.

Well, no. This time he gave me that grave look that I think they have doctors practice in mirrors at medical school (in a big room resembling a dance studio): you have a bulging disk. (I checked the impulse to reply "Or are you just happy to see me" because the interior voice was going "uh-oh.") Not the end of the world, very common, but it's taking longer to get over than usual, and I'm spending a good part of my off-work time horizontal in this narcotized cocoon. Which sounds great at first, but, after awhile, you find yourself repeating Major Tom's mantra in "Ashes to Ashes": want to come down right now! Plus it's kind of thrown a curve into my many nefarious plans--being a photographer, playwright, theatregoer, gardener, and, of late, guitar slinger. (I definitely need to branch out more, no?)

So, to my theatre friends: sorry I've been missing your shows. I'd like to go, but I seem to be having this problem with gravity.

S

Oregon Book Awards

Here's a write-up on this year's Oregon Book Award nominees for drama. Though it's besmeared with info on yours truly, it includes some background on some good writers as well:

Paper Fort

Analogy Time

Sheer Genius

Below is a reproduction of an index card that apparently slipped off Palin's podium last night and was found by a janitor sweeping up....
Not really. But would that it could be. The graphic, courtesy of the Wonkette, is nonetheless...perfect.

Good luck, tonight...

...America.