Kelso on McClellan (and Bush)

Wow-Statesman humorist John Kelso has a comi-tragic column on the whole Scott McClellan tell-some book brouhaha. Kelso, like many others, points out that the genesis of the book is likely McClellan being lied to and being asked to lie to the press (read: American people) about the whole Valarie Plame affair. But Kelso, who normally confines himself to milder (read: funnier) political discourse, veers into a serious point, sharply made:

The book says the president ignored the intelligence that said the war would be a disaster and started it anyway because he thought only wartime presidents achieve "a legacy of greatness."

Greatness? Here's Bush's legacy: a national debt of $9.4 trillion; a worldwide lack of trust in the U.S. government; a dollar so weak it's changed the meaning of the expression, "Your money's no good around here, mister"; and an economy so lame that in tony Santa Barbara, Calif., they've created special overnight parking lots for people who have lost their homes and have to spend the night sleeping in their cars.

47.5, Thanks for Asking

Funny story in The Post about hybrid drivers being competitive about gas mileage. It is infectious. I love to drive extremely slowly, using only the electric motor. You get killer mileage, though the kids (I would never do this with Mrs. Miasma in the car) usually scream "Move it, Grampa" after a few minutes.

Blogitis

So, it's been awhile. I know, I've been thinking about you. It's not that I don't want to visit you. Sometimes, though, I just don't know what to say. And then it's even more awkward, which makes it harder to say anything meaningful. Do you see what I am saying?

In fact, I've been feeling guilty about not coming to visit. And when I do, my reaction is to become defiant, all "what right does it have?" "What about my feelings?" "I'm pretty busy, you know."

There are lots of excuses. I have been busy. The kids hog all my time. The computer is never free. B broke his leg. J has been playing soccer like a maniac. I planted a lawn. In the good old days, those wouldn't be excuses, they would be photos with shot-at-pith taglines. Now they are just reasons I don't sit down and spew.

But the truthiest truth is that I haven't had all that much to say. I fear that banality, the kudzu of after forty suburban life, has smothered the blog-worthy life items. I got nothing.

So, it's type or get off the blog. The next few days will tell.