"…I hope all is well with you. I have like 10 postcards from people who still seem to like me which I need to scan in and post.

Brief summary of life right now, so you can get an idea of why the Totem is stalled at 7 Sep:

[…] It's fifth down, sun in my eyes, with a full count, strong winds, and my high-tech Speedo body suit just ripped down the back. The horror! The horror!

What I'm trying to say is: I'm juggling a bowling ball (12 lb, purple, marbled), a running chainsaw (Husquavarna, 10 inch), a Burrito Mexicano (chicken, black beans, mild sauce, no sour cream), a diesel engine (from a 1979 VW Rabbit), a small, ornate Faberge Egg (Sotheby's, $25,000), and my feeble sanity (priceless). Every day at noon, I try to take a bite from the burrito and not drop the diesel engine on my foot.

You know what I mean-- for the love of God, I've grown a goatee!"

I think I speak on behalf of America when I say:

LEAVE ME ALONE! THE VERY FACT THAT I FOUND YOUR STORE AND BOUGHT STUFF MEANS YOU'RE ON THE RIGHT TRACK! LEAVE IT AT THAT!

Thank you.

"Does any of this matter? Of course it does. Bush has already claimed with hand on heart that he personally scrutinized the death-row appeals of more than a hundred condemned wretches in the shocking Texas prison system; we now have to face the fact that he not only did not review the clemency petitions but could not have read them even if he wanted to. Aides now remember the times they presented the governor or the candidate with that crucial briefing paper, only to see him toss it on the desk and demand a crisp, verbal, "bottom line" summary of its contents. Decisive, right? Wrong."

A Dannon commercial says Kids Rule; Burger King says Taste Rules; another store says Fun Rules. Perhaps they're ruling different parts of the nation: "Well, fun-based laws might be the way things are done where you come from, friend, but here, Taste Rules." Given the nature of power to expand and consolidate, I fear the coming war of these various ruling factions. Future newspaper headlines:

Taste, Fun Clash in Brutal Exchange; Kids Stay Neutral

Fun Bombs Kids; Taste Vows Reprisals

Fun Declares Defeat; Taste-Kid Axis Rules

"Then again, I'd had five hours of sleep. That will change your perspective. But every morning when I swing my dead limbs off the sofa and wonder how I am going to do it, again, I think: the guys who invaded Normandy had less sleep, and when I go to work no one's going to be shooting at me."

Question is, why do people go into clowning when they know they unnerve the majority of their fellow citizens? Perhaps they're deluded by the propaganda of the clown community, which insists, despite all evidence, that they are beloved figures of American lore -- or they like to scare us. They enjoy giving everyone the willies. No: the clownies. As in:

Man, that dude gave me the clownies.

Or: Stop it, man, you're clowning me out!

Our camp fared quite well during the "national emergencies" this year. I was far from home when the major dust storm hit though. My lady friend and I strolled blithely home in the midst of it. People ran by in a panic. Bits of things whizzed past. Some of the bits looked fairly large and integral to something. We did stop once to help a camp that was quite obviously doomed. After my friend had been picked up and dropped a few times by the tarp she was holding, we decided the extra karma wasn't worth it.
We also made a pit stop at a set of porta-potties with a flight attendant handing out paper ass gaskets in the storm. Once inside the pottie you were rocked and serenaded not only with the rush of the ensuing dust, but also with pre-recorded emergency messages from amusement rides and airlines. I never knew a porta-pottie could be an E ticket ride…

"[…] 'This Is Spinal Tap' came to life without a written script; the bare bones of the scenes were worked out ahead of time, but the actors improvised almost all of the dialogue. (They also wrote all of the songs. "Since there wasn't a script, we had to write something," McKean has said.) […]"

I first heard about this on NPR this morning: "[A] pregnant member of a fundamentalist sect who is suspected of covering up the death of her last child was ordered into custody Thursday after she refused to submit to a court-ordered medical exam."

"'I think Baby Corneau is safer today than Baby Corneau has ever been,' Bristol County District Attorney Paul Walsh said."

Unfortunately, women's reproductive rights are apparently in critical condition. Now, I readily admit that this woman and I probably don't see eye-to-eye on anything, but when, exactly, did the rights of the fetus usurp the rights of the mother? What's next? Arresting women who don't eat healthy food while they're pregnant? Jail time for those who refuse to breast-feed, thereby "endangering" the infant? The implications are profoundly disturbing. Remedial reading for Mr. Walsh: Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale.