Ah me, another humdrum primary under my belt, pounding the same goofy guy that I creamed last time. The general election promises to be even more of a snore--if that's possible.
Nothing spins my bow tie anymore. I miss the old days, when Vera and I used to go at each other in the City Club debates. I used to practice for hours in front of the TV, talking back to Joan Rivers. Maggie Strachan packed a pretty mean bun, too. That woman knew how to swear.
Who's having all the fun now? Sam and Nick, scratching each other's eyes out. Meeowww! Go for it, guys.
As I told the Bus kids, I'd love to come back and live full-time in Southeast Portland. The tattooed hipsters, the patchouli-oiled vegans, the hooded anarchists menacing the Starbucks--these are my people. They keep you young.
Life on Capitol Hill just isn't healthy. It's taking years off my life. As I was biking in to work the other morning, coming around Logan Circle, a guy nearly mowed me down in his El Dorado.
I looked up, and it was Trent Lott. He was adjusting his toupee in the rear-view mirror, not watching where he was going. And he had a Peggy Lee tape blasting at full volume. I swear, he never saw me.
-- Posted by Earl at 11:41 pm