UPDATED TO ADD:

Hi there-- yes, I have new things to share with you (I got a video camera! dogalogues go rogue!) but have been wildly busy with midterms, wicked witch of writing classes (quote from student yesterday, "you're SO tough. but it's refreshing." -- um, good thing? still pondering that. lucky for me they don't know I am a total pushover and they will all get high grades by the end for working so hard but right now-- I have to wrestle them to really push themselves to learn this sh-t and grow), and whatever else it is I ever do all day.

BUT, had to jump in and share this with you all because, I'm sorry-- I loved it. Please understand, I never had hero worship as a kid. I never had anyone's poster on my wall as a teenager. So, maybe I'm having a second childhood here with my adoration of Obama and his beautiful family. Or, maybe I just think he is truly something special. Either way, wanted to share. Have a great weekend and I'll see you Monday!

Four Days in Denver

via Misty and via Thea.

As much as I might have tried to brush aside a low-grade angst that has been stalking me over the past many weeks, the fact is I have been holding my breath. It's one of those damned consequences of opening up to experiences: once you care, you are vulnerable. Hence the reason so many remain in the comforting sea of indifference.

Ah, but allow me to explain how I, Miss Avoid-Emotional-Pain-At-All-Costs, could have found herself covering her eyes as she listened to the campaign coverage much like a nervous parent, numbly ripping the cuticles from the bleeding stubs of her fingers as she paces back and forth behind the bleachers, unable to watch her child play in the tournament match for fear of jinxing it.

It all began lo these 1,074 days (or 153 weeks, 36ish months or nearly THREE YEARS AGO!) when on November 25, 2005 I came into this blog and wrote the following:

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The thing is, despite being burrowed away in my silvery Xanadu, I am still entangled with the hurlyburly of the great human experiment and will shout from the mountain tops that I am afire with rekindled love for Mr. Barack Obama.

For those of you who did not see him on Jon Stewart, you have my condolences. He was, in a word, magnificent. Superb. Breathtaking. Dazzling. Brilliant. Stunning. Impossibly articulate. Deftly funny.

Okay. That's ten words. But I see politicians on Jon Stewart all the time and they can never find their footing. Either they try to be funny and tank. Or, they are so intimidated by Jon that they tank. Or, they hold onto some pole-up-their-ass uptightness in an effort to distance themselves from this silly comedy show and remind everyone they are big boys and in doing so they, er, tank.

Barack blows them all away. Blows them away. Like an ostrich coming into the farmyard ready for a footrace with some mindless, blind hens.

He parried with Jon with absolute ease and looseness, his killer smile always in evidence. There wasn't a moment of him trying to be " a serious politican," or fobbing off indirect answers to direct questions, or a whiff of hesitation. Ever. He was F*CKING amazing. He was presidential without trying. He has so much genuine class he didn't have to create any phony storefront. He struck the perfect balance: never inappropriate and never uptight-- I am in awe of his composure, his poise and his extreme intelligence. And then. THEN, he even double-smacked back on Jon to Jon's absolute delight and amazement.

Holy god, he is perfect. A perfect genius. I always found him appealing before, it's not like I didn't know he was smart and cute and disarming. It's just that I hadn't seen him in this milieu before and loved how he shredded the furniture.

It is my new mantra: Obama for President. I chant it throughout the day. There is light. There is hope.

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Um, do you wanna touch me now? Seriously. Are you not in agreement that I have the conjuring power and should stop all activity effective immediately and go back to what I was born to do which is lie around and dream up good things?

Do you see that last word? Hope?

And people, to really get where I am calling from, I WAS THROWING THAT OUT THERE LIKE A FREAKING PIPE DREAM. It was a fantasy.

Well, the only thing left to add is that he HAS to win because T has told me if he doesn't we are moving to New Zealand and do you have any idea what quarantine issues I would have to face to bring a certain three dogs into New Zealand?

Exactly. He has to win.

And, in case you were wondering, I am going to sleep in it tonight . . .

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He won. He won. Blessed, blessed, blessed be. He won.

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