A Highly Truncated Account of the DNC So Far:

I've been too sick to write about the Democratic National Convention in any real detail. However, I've watched several hours each night and even ordered Roma tomato and basil pizza from Toscana for Monday's kick-off. Highlights and observations:

• CNN's Jeffrey Toobin and James Carville were dead wrong that Monday's speeches were too up-with-people-let's-all-hug. It was smart for the Democrats to first lay out who they are before eviscerating the Republicans. Also, even a tangential association between Michelle Obama and "anger" would have been a big, big mistake.

• High five to Teddy for telling his doctors, essentially, to get stuffed; traversing the country; standing for the duration of his address; and injecting some blood and joy into the proceedings. (Jesse Jackson Jr. was pretty effective; Nancy Pelosi, whom I like, prompted me to hurl epithets with that second grade civics lesson "Barack Obama is right and John McCain is wrong" call-and-response. Her speech writer needs a new line of work, like cardboard sorter or sandwich maker.)

• I've long adored and admired Michelle Obama, but after Monday's oration, she's now in the pantheon with Washington Square Park, The Beatles, rabbits, Joan Didion, Via Della Pace's lobster ravioli, Ernest Hemingway, and Top Pot's raspberry glazed donuts. Also, if more kids were as smart and cute and Malia and Sacha, I might have considered having some.

• I knew Hillary would deliver a barn-burner because it was in her own interest to do so. But Tuesday night's speech was positively electrifying and if she was faking it, she fooled me and everyone I know. (Ultimately, she benefits as much as Obama, of course, but people, I'm trying to maintain the hopey-ness.) Mad props to her speech writer, too, because the Harriet Tubman segment was particularly engrossing.

• Due to a protracted snafu at the QFC on Broadway and E. Pike where, apparently, it's a-okay to employ dead-eyed zombies with tiny microbes gnawing away their brain matter, I got home late and missed the first half of Bill Clinton's address. I liked what I caught, however, and was reminded why, until recently, he was my favorite politician. President Clinton is basically the friend you sometimes want to cockpunch (I'm being metaphorical, Secret Service!), but cherish nonetheless.
  

• During the primaries, I maintained that in a different year, Joe Biden and Chris Dodd might have had traction. Not only do I want to have the proverbial beer with Joe Biden, I want to get soused with his whole goddamned family and, for the most part, I can't even drink. Biden's tone was note-perfect last night and I think he's going to make an excellent attack dog/bad cop/Robin/Chewbacca.
  

• When Obama spoke last night, I was reminded again that repeatedly sacrificing chunks of my spare cash has been worth it.
  

• To the pundits grousing that tonight's purported Greek columned set might reinforce the inane notion that Obama is elitist, calm the hell down. It'll either work or it won't, but don't get your panties bunched up before you've seen it.
  

Okay, off to run errands before the evening's festivities. And look! Over yonder! Might that be a unicorn alighting the sky?

[In all seriousness, the next 67 days are going to monstrously fucking hard and I think the outcome will be close. But yes, I very much believe this time next year we'll be referring to "President Obama". Onwards.]

The avalanche

One of my best friends is an experienced mountain and rock climber. Before his recent trek, I asked him if he or his pals have ever packed something akin to cyanide capsules. In case of disaster (god forbid), they could hasten things and not freeze or bleed to death for twelve hours in an icy crevasse. He said it was smart in theory, but a mistake in practice. He explained that when you're climbing, you have to believe that you can extricate yourself from any calamity, even if you logically know this isn't true.

In a way, we tell ourselves similar tales regarding relationships. Married couples, I think, do this the most. And it makes sense, because no marriage could work if the individuals went into it focused on the worst case scenario, that it could all crash down with little warning. Each time John and Elizabeth Edwards' wedding photo is flashed onscreen, I get sad. Their entire odyssey was always leading up to this moment and, realistically, there's no way out. Her cancer is Stage 4 and two of their children are young and even if she wants to leave--I have no idea if she does--she's not going to. So she'll spend her remaining time drained of the forces that sustained her.

I've long admired Mrs. Edwards and she doesn't need my pity. But we've all known a Rielle Hunter, someone who purports to be spiritual in order to mask their vapidity and baseness, and that makes the whole thing worse. In the footage released so far, she displays the I.Q. of a ringworm. It's inconceivable she'd land the videographer job with a prominent campaign if she weren't fucking the candidate. (I read Jay Mcinerney's novel about Hunter, Story of My Life, when it was released in '89. In the correlating Vanity Fair interview, she was totally grating. Nothing has changed, it seems.)

Still, though, John Edwards is the major culprit here. He upended his family, misused $114,000 in campaign funds and, basically, detonated what was once his life.

More so than anything, I hope his dick gets crushed by debris.

Essential truths:

• Each statement uttered by John McCain or his campaign staff during the past week has made the Arizona senator sound like a complete ass
• Andre Benjamin's smile could illuminate the darkest cave and should be studied as a possible alternative fuel source
• Avocado slices and soy cream cheese on a whole wheat bagel smacks of leftovers from a Joni Mitchell sack lunch circa 1973 but is actually quite delicious
• Writers should adopt David Bazan's "Fewer Broken Pieces" as our anthem
  
• I get to legally kill the guy who revs his un-muffled Harley every night outside my bedroom window
• Same for the designer on "Project Runway" tonight who'd never heard of Sgt. Pepper
• Also, everyone who asks, "How many more pages do you have left to go?"
• Chuck Klosterman is brilliant and should not be imitated
  
• No one with a functioning cerebellum cares what Pitchfork thinks
  
• Patton Oswalt and Wanda Sykes will cure what ails you
• The Deluxe's turkey cobb salad suggests God might like us after all
• My bunnies are cuter than your kids