Confessin'...

I must say it has been especially difficult to focus on anything but presidential politics these last few days.  I feel like were either headed for a national redemption--I do SO hope we are, or a watershed downturn to punctuate a decade of downturns, leaving us in latter-day Margaret Atwood science fiction territory.  I have the dog and my family to think about, otherwise I could, in the event of the latter outcome, sell my record collection and move to the south of France.  I would have the rest of my days to learn the art of the omelet, and screw wayfaring students.  Tempting, to be sure, but I'm very much of the attitude that we will, as Faulkner said in his Nobel speech, "not merely endure, but prevail."  I ain't a praying man, and I wouldn't know to what or whom I would if I was, but I'm doing jumping jacks, talking the talk, and going out for  some voter registration tomorrow--something I have not done, truthfully, since the primaries.  

That said, after a half-hearted bash of Sonic Youth (no, I don't like 'em, and yes, I was merely picking a fight--it was a bad day...) I decided to direct as much of my idle time as I could to reconnecting to some of those old records.

The last 36 hours have formed a laconic constellation of trances, reveries and zonings out;  Green-era Fleetwood Mac, Debussy--because he's fun, and irresistible Candi Staton.  What a soulful time.  

Oh, and do please fight the good fight.  Keep fighting the good fight.  Think ahead to that positive, no doubt tearful, sigh in November, when we can thank ourselves, and begin to truly put things back together. 

UPDATE (in the wake of Thursday's financial crisis meeting in Washington):

It is to the ongoing bewilderment of clear-headed Americans that there are, a. ANY undecided voters left in this country; and that b. ANYONE could witness ANY two consecutive moments of John McCain's campaign and not be instantly convinced to vote,  if not for Obama, then at the very least, against McCain.  If we needed any convincing that the unspoken, smoldering, stubborn-as-a-mule form of racism is the worst kind we truly need look no further than this contest, in which a young, equinanimous political visionary and constitutional law scholar and educator is facing off against a novelty noisemaker and counterproductive heap of putrescent white flesh, and the putrescent white flesh very much has a fighting chance...Fucking wow!