Thanksgiving, 2008

Today is the day we here in the United States celebrate the holiday of Thanksgiving. The details of the original Thanksgiving celebration are muddied by time, and the date of the first Thanksgiving is a subject of some debate; however, according to Wikipedia, the earliest attested Thanksgiving celebration was on September 8, 1565 in what is now Saint Augustine, Florida, while the traditional first Thanksgiving is said to have occurred at the site of Plymouth Plantation, Massachusetts, in 1621.

Those of you who have been my virtual friends for the last three years know that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, because it provides a day on which to reflect on all the things for which I don't give thanks often enough. The list is long, but high on it would be:

* The love and support of the world's greatest wife...


* A job.

* A nice home.

* Good friends, both online and in person.

* A marvelous family...


* And the world's smartest and most beautiful grandchildren...

In the course of busy days in which we never seem to have enough time or energy to reflect on the things that are really important, it's good to have one day that provides a chance to give thanks ... not for the physical things we may own, but for the matchless gifts of life, love, and friendship.

This poem has been in my collection for many years and its author is unknown, but it sums up the way I ought to feel every day, but really feel every Thanksgiving:

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve -
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for help, that I might do greater things -
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy -
I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life -
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for,
But everything I had hoped for.

Despite myself, my prayers were answered.

I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

On this Thanksgiving, I wish each of you, my virtual friends, a safe and happy holiday filled with reflection on the things for which you can be thankful. Eat the turkey, lick the gravy from your fingers, watch the football games and the parades, and share the day with those you love. And if you're not living someplace where Thanksgiving is observed, take a moment with me to reflect on life's blessings.

It's only once a year, after all. And you'll feel better.

Happy Thanksgiving! More thoughts on the way...

Bilbo

Bilbo and Agnes's Marvelous Vacation - Part 3: Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa

I learned yesterday that people actually read what I write, because Mike picked up on the fact that I'd mentioned we'd spent three days at sea before arriving in Acapulco, and commented "You didn't tell us what you and Agnes did for three days at sea. Do you have video or pictures?" The full answer is coming later, but for now I will just say that we don't have video or pictures of everything. If you know what I mean...

But back to our next port of call: Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa. It seems that in the 1960's the Mexican government used computers to select locations for tourist development and picked, among others, a sleepy fishing town called Zihuatanejo. The major tourist mecca of Ixtapa was built about three miles up the coast, complete with modern hotels and everything spoiled tourists might require. Zihuatanejo was left pretty much as it was, serving mainly as the port where tourists arrived en route to Ixtapa.

And so it was that the Star Princess sailed grandly into the bay of Zihuatanejo early on the morning of Saturday, November 15th. The town's port can't handle large cruise ships, so we anchored out in the bay and were shuttled to the dock by the ship's tenders.

Once gently deposited at the dock, we struck out to explore the town.

At each port of call, the cruise line offered dozens of tours and other shore activities of varying length (and cost). The only thing that had interested us in Zihuatanejo was horseback riding along the beach; however, Agnes hadn't brought along any closed-toe shoes and neither of us had any jeans, so we decided to skip the tour and just wander around the town on our own. We weren't particularly interested in Ixtapa (the main attraction of which was upscale shopping and beach activities), so we struck out along the paved shorefront walkway to explore.

It didn't take long to leave the main part of the Zihuatanejo metroplex, and we very much enjoyed the beautiful views as we walked along the bay. Remember how I told you yesterday that we felt safe because of all the security forces everywhere?

Here are a few random pictures from our stroll along the shoreline...

Back in Zihuatanejo proper, we visited the Flea Market, a dense network of stalls and vendors stretching for several blocks back into town from the shore.

While Agnes shopped for gifts, I enjoyed watching the spectacle of a huge local bus trying to negotiate a left turn from one impossibly narrow and crowded street into another impossibly narrow and crowded street. While traffic backed up and an occasional horn honked irritably (unlike in Acapulco), the bus inched back and forth about a thousand times until it finally - after almost 10 minutes of effort - managed to squeeze into the new street...whereupon it did exactly the same thing again to turn left into the next street. I wouldn't have wanted to be the driver...

The ship's call in Zihuatanejo being fairly short, we caught the tender back to the Star Princess at about noon, and spent the rest of the day doing as close to nothing as possible.

As a general comment, we found the people were much more genuinely friendly and the vendors far less aggressive and annoyingly pushy than in Acapulco. This was a much more laid-back place. But small, sleepy town or not, there were still lots of security people everywhere...

And a last view of Zihuatanejo...

Tomorrow, I'll have two posts: one for Thanksgiving, and the continuation of our adventures as we arrive in Puerto Vallarta.

Have a good day. The vacation story continues tomorrow.

Bilbo

Bilbo and Agnes's Marvelous Vacation - Part 2: Acapulco, Mexico

Still with me after yesterday's adventures in San Francisco?

On the morning of the 10th, we received a call at about 9:00 from the cruise line telling us that the arrival of the Star Princess in San Francisco had been delayed by "heavy seas and fog," and that the bus which would pick us up and take us to the ship would thus arrive a bit later than planned...perhaps around 1:00 or 1:30, rather than noon. As directed, we checked out of our room at the hotel and waited patiently in the lobby with our bags and a group of other cruise passengers. At noon, a cruise line representative arrived and provided us each with a $25 lunch certificate for the swanky Top of the Mark restaurant in the hotel, probably on the theory that we would be less upset about the delay if we were fed. They were right.

The bus finally arrived shortly before 2:00 and - a tribute to the marvelous organization of the cruise operator - we were on board the ship by 3:00. The originally scheduled sailing time of 4:00 eventually ended up being about 7:30, but we didn't care...we were on the way!

We spent the first three days at sea as the ship sailed from San Francisco to its first stop at Acapulco, where we arrived at about 11:30 on Friday the 14th. The weather was beautiful, with brilliant sun, temperatures in the low 90's, and about 87% humidity, and we were ready to go. After smearing ourselves liberally with SPF 9000 sunscreen we headed for the dock to meet the bus tour we'd scheduled.

The first stop on the tour was the Hotel Mirador and a visit to the famous Acapulco cliff divers. This was an amazing show...I'd heard of the divers before, but seeing them actually do their thing was truly incredible. They dive from a 136 foot cliff into a pool of water that is nominally only about six feet deep...they accomplish this safely by carefully watching the inrushing surf and timing their dives so that the maximum inflow of water will be reached as they hit the water. And then, having made this impossible dive (which, by the way, requires them to launch themselves at least 12 feet out from the cliff face to avoid the rocks at the bottom), they actually climb back up the cliff! In this picture, you can see one fellow on his perch ready to dive, and another in the process of climbing up the cliff below.

This picture shows the perch from which the men (they're all men, except for one 15-year-old girl in training, whom we didn't see) dive, and the ledge above which has a small shrine at which they pray briefly before each leap...


And in this picture, you can see one of them just beginning his dive...

After the show, the divers all raced quickly up to the hotel Mirador, from which we were watching, to position themselves for tips and pictures. We'd learned that the divers all belong to a union which collects money from the hotel to pay them and to maintain an insurance fund (since they can't get traditional insurance, imagine that!). We passed out some tips and gawked at the men's feet...which look like hooves after years of climbing up and down that cliff!

After the traditional half-hour for shopping at a silver and jewelry store that just happened to be there (who'da thunk it?), we fought our way back to the bus through a teeming swarm of hyper-aggressive street vendors and continued on with the city tour. A few general observations:

* The old part of Acapulco is pretty seedy. Streets and sidewalks are poorly maintained, and you have to watch your step constantly because curbs aren't of uniform height. This was a general comment applicable to each of the four towns we visited (about which you will hear in due course): the Mexican Riviera is breathtakingly beautiful from a distance, but the closer you get, and the farther you get from the major tourist areas, the more run-down and decrepit it looks. Here are some sample pictures:


* Traffic is insane, but - unlike Washington - nobody is honking and cursing...no sign of the road rage we're used to at home.

* Our guide said that the population of Mexico is 90% Catholic, and the other 10% are priests. Hmmm...

* Most men in Mexico look either like Antonio Banderas or Quasimodo, and the women are either heart-stoppingly beautiful or very plain. There didn't seem to be much of a middle ground.

* By law, there are no private beaches in Acapulco...all the beaches are open to everyone.

* Final observation: we felt very safe, largely because I'd never seen so many heavily armed security guards, police, and military personnel in such a small place. Since the economy is about 100% dependent on tourism, the government doesn't take any chances on anything untoward happening to the visitors.

We finally ended up back at the ship around 6:00, and the ship set sail for its next stop, Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa, at about 10:40 PM. This is what Acapulco looked like at night from our cabin:

If you're not tired of the travelogue yet, we'll continue tomorrow with the visit to Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa and Puerto Vallarta. If you are tired of it, come back in a few days, when I'll be done and back to the usual blathering commentary.

Have a good day. More of our adventures tomorrow.

Bilbo

Bilbo and Agnes's Marvelous Vacation - Part 1: San Francisco

Yes, we are finally back from our long (and long overdue, if I may say so) vacation. As you all know, we left on Saturday the 8th for San Francisco, where we connected on the 10th with our cruise to the so-called "Mexican Riviera." We arrived back home at 2:00 AM on Friday the 21st, slept for a few hours, then packed and drove up to Pittsburgh, PA for an early Thanksgiving and family reunion hosted by my sister and her family. We finally got home for good yesterday afternoon about 4:00 PM.

I'll tell you about Mexico tomorrow...today, our adventures in San Francisco. Those of you who received postcards or letters from us while we were on the road may already have heard some of this before, but stick with me and I'll try to keep it moderately interesting...and there are pictures.

Our son-in-law Vin drove us to the airport on the morning of our departure, and turned out to be more of a help than just being a chauffeur. As he helped load our two suitcases into the car, he suggested we might want to weigh them...whereupon he recommended take along a third, empty, suitcase just in case. Good call...when we got to the airport, it turned out that one of the cases was about 3 pounds overweight, while the other was about 0.0003675 grams under. The airline (Delta) petulantly refused to allow the overweight suitcase, and so we had to repair to a distant corner of the concourse to transfer some stuff into the extra suitcase...so that Delta could then happily charge us $50.00 to accept the third bag. This, as you might suspect, put Agnes into a happy frame of mind at the outset.

Once we got underway, the flight to San Francisco (via Atlanta) was mostly uneventful, if a bit bumpy. I received my usual choice seat in the absolute last row, right next to the lavatory, from which I had a great view of the other 9,000 people on the completely full flight all trying to shove their carry-on baby grand pianos into the overhead bins.

We arrived in San Francisco on time, where we were met by a nice lady from Princess Cruises who helped us collect our bags and put us into a cab for our hotel, the Mark Hopkins on Nob Hill.

By this time it was fairly late, so we just had dinner in the hotel. Before bed, though, we took the Princess representative's advice and booked a four-hour tour of the city for the following day.

The tour bus picked us up at 11:00, and we soon ran into a problem unforeseen by the driver...a Veterans' Day parade that seemed to be on every street he tried to enter. We spent a good bit of time stuck at various intersections as we waited for the police to stop the parade long enough for a few cars to pass at a time. The driver kept up a colorful commentary on all this ("This is San Francisco, for Pete's sake...how long can a Veterans' Day parade be? Now a gay pride parade, that would tie up the city all day...and they'd plan and announce it two years in advance...and then they'd have a few extra days of pre- and post-parades and street festivals!").

The tour eventually got underway and covered all the major areas of the city, including a drive across the famous Golden Gate Bridge and a stop for pictures at a scenic overlook...

The Golden Gate Bridge is not, of course, golden at all...it's painted International Orange so that it will be visible to passing ships. The Golden Gate is actually the name of the narrow channel into San Francisco Bay that the bridge spans.

We also got nice views of the wonderful mixture of 1880's-style Victorian homes and 1950's-60's vintage "cowboy" architecture in the city's neighborhoods. The Victorian structures tend to be beautiful, and the "cowboy" homes more boxy and utilitarian. We got a look at some of the most famous Victorian homes, which were made famous as a setting for a television show some years ago...

San Francisco sits on a major fault line which ensures that it will suffer frequent earthquakes. After the major quakes of 1906 and 1989, improvements were made in construction and design to make the city more earthquake-resistant. We learned that most low-rise buildings in the city are framed with wood, which is more flexible in the face of earthquake pressures. The guide drew parallels between San Francisco's recovery from the 1906 earthquake which pretty much destroyed the city, and New Orleans' recovery from hurricane Katrina: within a year of the 1906 earthquake, everyone was out of temporary housing, whereas in the same time frame, some people in New Orleans were still looking for housing. In addition, although San Francisco was almost totally destroyed in 1906, by 1915 it had been rebuilt and was hosting a World's Fair!

At the end of the tour, the driver dropped those of us who wished on the Embarcadero, the boulevard which runs along the bay, near the infamous tourist trap of Fishermans Wharf. Fishermans Wharf is composed of souvenir shops, restaurants, 15 gazillion tourists, 88 million street people, performers and vendors, and approximately 156 billion sea gulls, whose role in the ecology is to turn garbage into poop and deposit it on anything that doesn't move...or doesn't move quickly enough. The predominant color of Fishermans Wharf is gull-poop white.

We then spent a few hours walking around the city, which is actually very small and (in terms of distances) very walkable. It's built on a fairly small peninsula, which makes it compact...the problem is the hills. As I told John when I wrote to him, before the Almighty rested after the creation, He discovered He had a great many steep hills left over, and decided that San Francisco would be as good a place as any to store them. And these are, indeed steep hills. You can tell native San Franciscans because they have enormously strong legs, one of which is longer than the other, and massive lung capacity built up from years of hiking up and down these ridiculous hills. Fortunately, the city enjoys breezes from the bay which blow away the smells of burning brakes and clutches. Some of you may remember Bill Cosby's early and somewhat lesser-known stories about driving in San Francisco...they're all true.

Agnes wanted to see the famous Lombard Street - noted for being very picturesque, very steep and very, very crooked. We hiked up from the waterfront to the foot of Lombard Street (a chore in itself), and then hiked up to the top of the crooked portion...Agnes can tell you it is 249 steps in each direction. It was difficult to get a full picture of the street, but this is what one section looks like...

From the top of Lombard Street, we had some very beautiful views of the city...including one of its most infamous tourist attractions: the former Alcatraz Prison (which we did not, unfortunately, have time to visit).

After finally descending back to the waterfront, we found a restaurant for dinner, and then decided to ride one of the famous cable cars back to our hotel. This was an adventure. When you see the cable cars in the early morning, they look very picturesque and have lots of room available:

Unfortunately, when you ride them at about 9:00 PM, you wait in a vast crowd at the terminus of your desired line, and then enjoy the ride ($5.00 one way, no transfers) packed into the car like sardines, except with less space. The conductors all speak Old Church Slavonic to ensure that, even if you can hear their announcements, you don't have any idea where you are. We quite literally found our stop by accident, and were only able to exit the car near our hotel because I rabbit-punched my way through the crowd to the exit with Agnes in tow.

That was our day as gawking tourists in San Francisco. Tomorrow, we'll summarize our visit to the Mexican Riviera. Yes, Mike, there will be pictures so you won't have to read too much at a time.

Have a good day. The travelogue continues tomorrow.

Bilbo

We're Back!!

We finally got home at about 2:00 AM this morning, and are in the process of packing and leaving again for our early Thanksgiving and family reunion at my sister's home in Pennsylvania. With luck, we won't encounter any snow en route.

A full summary of our adventures, with pictures (some moderately embarrassing) will follow starting on Monday.

Some of you received postcards (I know Mike and Amanda have received theirs already...Mike even posted his on his blog, cleverly letting me do his work for him), and others (Fiona, John, and Andrea) have letters en route which were just mailed this morning (couldn't figure out the Mexican postal system). Didn't mean to stiff anyone...I just didn't have everyone's snail-mail addresses.

See you back here on Monday...more thoughts then.

Bilbo

Cartoon Saturday

The election is over, the economy is still tanking, unemployment is at 6 1/2 percent, there are still 73 days left in the current administration, and our new president-elect, while a good man, has little practical experience relevant to the magnitude of the tasks he faces.

Cartoon Saturday to the rescue!

In just a few hours, Agnes and I are heading to the airport to fly out to meet our 25th anniversary cruise. We've actually been married 26 years, but who's counting? We had to cut a few corners to afford the cruise...


Among the problems facing President-Elect Obama is the dismal state of our educational system. I'm glad some people are interested in fixing it...

This one's for all the help desk people who have pounded their heads on their desks when people asked them how to find the "Any" key...

Yes, I'm a government contractor. No, this isn't my company. But I know of some that fit the bill...

And although Agnes scoffs when I refer to her as my "trophy wife," at least I'm not literal about it...

As I warned you yesterday, we'll be away for the next two weeks. We may have intermittent internet access and, if so, I may post once or twice...but the real focus of this vacation is the maximum amount of relaxation and banishment of stress. Trips to the bar, the dance floor, and the dining rooms are about as much stress as I want.

And you won't forget me while I'm gone, will you?

Have a good day. More thoughts when we get back.

Bilbo

Old Toys, New Toys, and Memories

Over the last week, Gilahi has run a series of four posts (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4) highlighting toys some of us are old enough to remember from our misspent youths. I was amazed to see some of these things again: "Classic Green Army Men," the "Tin Harmonic Top," the original "Slinky" (made of steel wire, not plastic); and for budding engineers, "Lincoln Logs" and "Tinkertoys." I think the only one he missed was the wonderful Kenner "Girder and Panel Building Set." Of course, he did find two things I didn't remember, but could certainly use: "Tired Old Ass Soak" and "Aging Hippy Bath Oil Fizz."

Those brought back memories. Not the Tired Old Ass Soak, the toys.

Last weekend Agnes and I were out doing initial Christmas gift reconnaissance, and I was amazed at some of the toys that are on sale for children. Most of them are made of colorful plastic and feature flashing lights and the sound effects we used to have to make ourselves (children love my UFO sounds). Girls have big-busted Barbie dolls instead of Mrs Beasley, and it's difficult to find a toy for girls that doesn't have Hannah Montana somehow tied to it; boys have "GI Joe action figures" instead of the solid plastic "classic green army men" I used to play with until I learned that war actually hurts.

My daughter sent the grandparents an e-mail the other day, imploring us to avoid kitschy, overly gender-specific girly gifts for Leya in favor of things that are educational. The list was comprehensive and well thought-out, and reflected her desire to provide appropriate and useful gifts for her daughter. I'm just glad I won't have to return the "Baby's First Atomic Pile" I ordered (no "atomic pile" jokes related to diapers, please, Mike).

Toys have changed quite a bit since I was young, as I'm sure our parents lamented when they bought toys for us. There's a great story on the CNN website today that announces the latest addition to The National Toy Hall of Fame: the plain old stick, "a universal plaything powered by a child's imagination."

Imagination is the key word, here. We've all seen how the child often has more fun playing with the box than with the expensive toy that came packaged in it. Imagination is the fuel that powers the engine of play, and it's the steadily decreasing level of imagination that makes adulthood so dreary for many of us. Most of us would rather watch a movie that puts spectacular visuals right in front of us than read the book that requires us to use our imagination to flesh out the story. Yesterday I wrote about science fiction stories like Jurassic Park and Danger: Dinosaurs!. The eye-popping visuals of the film version of Jurassic Park were truly amazing...but somehow I think the mental images I got from reading the original story were just as good, if not better.

If you give a child a stick for Christmas, people will think you're a cheap grinch or worse. But that stick can become a king's sceptre, a knight's sword, a fishing pole, or a wizard's wand. The illuminated, sound-effect-enhanced, glow-in-the-dark plastic light saber will always be an illuminated, sound-effect-enhanced, glow-in-the-dark plastic light saber. The humble stick will always be so much more, its simplicity given power by the fuel of a child's imagination.

That's something worth thinking about this year as we visit Costco or Wal-Mart or Toys'r'Us to seek out the latest computer-enhanced fancy toys. They'll be fun for a while. But when the batteries run down or the plastic shell breaks or the new, upgraded version comes out, that plain old stick will still be there. And there are lots more where it came from. And they're free.

Sticks. Don't take a walk without them.

New topic: tomorrow, right after I post this week's Cartoon Saturday, Agnes and I will be leaving for our well-deserved and long-delayed vacation. Does this look like a happy fellow?

We'll be gone for about 2 1/2 weeks, and although we'll have Agnes's laptop along, I probably won't be able to post every day, if at all. I'll be too busy writing Fiona's letter and catching up on my reading and relaxing. Don't give up - I'll be back.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Michael Crichton, Time Travel, and Related Thoughts

I was saddened yesterday to learn of the death of one of my favorite authors - Michael Crichton. For those of you not familiar with his work, he was the author of such science fiction thrillers as Jurassic Park, The Andromeda Strain, Next, and my personal favorite, Timeline.

There were few authors who could combine his ability to blend the cautionary "what if?" to a rip-roaring good story. While he took his share of lumps for some of his scientific views (he didn't believe in global warming, for instance, and worked it into his novel State of Fear), he was not afraid to stand up and assert his position.

Timeline was a great story that made the idea of time travel believable. I thought it was a better and more exciting story than H.G. Wells' The Time Machine, perhaps because it dealt with travel into a past we "know" from history, rather than a future open to conjecture. It also ranked up there with the classic science fiction tale Danger: Dinosaurs! by Richard Marsten, which I read and enjoyed when I was in high school (when books were printed in limited editions on cunieform tablets, ifyaknowwhatimean). Danger: Dinosaurs! was the first time travel story I remember reading that dealt with the paradox of what happens to the present if we change the past. I remember a short story which ran, I think, in the old Omni Magazine, about hunters who contract with a time travel service to return to the distant past to hunt a Tyrannosaurus Rex...one of the hunters strays off the designated path, accidentally steps on a butterfly, and returns to a future changed beyond all recognition. Another short story, written as a dark comedy, dealt with the ultimate in trash disposal: a device which simply made trash of all sorts disappear. Everyone bought one, everyone used them...and nobody realized that the device didn't disintegrate the trash - it just sent it into a future time when everyone was horrified when it suddenly started raining trash!

Is time travel possible? Some scientists think so, others don't. Would I like to know the future? I don't know. Would I like to relive the past? Certainly not all of it. But whether we want the ability or not, whether it's possible or not, it makes for some great opportunities for storytelling.

I'll miss Michael Crichton and his great stories. But I'm glad that there will surely be other authors ready to step up with great stories of their own.

I'll just need a machine to create more time for me to read them.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

The Election Is Over. Now Comes the Hard Part.

As they say, it's all over but the shoutin'. The Election of 2008 is over. We have elected a new President. He happens to be black. If that bothers you, get over it. Let's move forward together.

I arrived at my assigned polling place, the gymnasium of the local elementary school, at 6:05 yesterday morning. The sight was daunting: the line began in the gym, snaked through the school hallways, came out the front door, crossed the parking lot, went to the main street, turned left, and continued on for almost four blocks. I wasn't sure if it was the line to vote or the line to pick up Honeybaked Hams for Christmas Eve. But although the line was long, the organization was superb - the line moved steadily, the monitors constantly prowled the line to make sure that people were in the right line for their precinct (we have two precincts voting in different rooms at the school), and as we got closer to the actual voting area, the monitors carefully watched the various registration tables and kept up steady announcements of which name letters could move forward (I was quite a way back in the line when they announced that "A through G" voters should move up, as no one was waiting at that table.

I presented my driver's license and voter's registration card to the registrar, who asked me to formally state my name and address. The Republican and Democratic poll monitors each scrutinized my documents (the Republican lady complimented me on my wardrobe, not that it helped), my name was crossed off the list, and I was given my voting authorization card. I took this card to the next table, where I was offered the choice of an optically-scannable paper ballot or the electronic voting machine...I opted for the machine, and was directed to the final line, from which I was guided to the next available device. When it was my turn, the poll worker activated the machine and stepped away, and I did my duty. The most important vote I may ever cast took less than a minute.

I was back at my car and on my way to work at 6:55, which I thought was pretty amazing considering the size of the crowd.

And this morning comes the news that we have elected the first black president. If this doesn't represent a clear break with the past, I'm not sure what does.

So what have we learned from the Election of 2008?

1. Americans will vote for the person they believe to be the better candidate, regardless of race. President-elect Obama couldn't have won without the support of voters of all races, creeds, and colors. Yes, there are die-hards out there who think the world is coming to an end because we've elected a black man. But their voices didn't carry the day, and are getting weaker all the time.

2. The amount of money spent on political campaigns is obscene. The money spent on hundreds of thousands of roadside signs alone would probably fund new books and supplies for a school district for a year.

3. Bumper sticker slogans still trump detailed discussion of policies. It's easy to stand in a crowd and shout "Yes we can!" It's a lot harder to stand in that crowd and ask "How do we?"

4. People can and do reject the politics of hate.

5. The cynical adage tells us to "be careful what you wish for, because you might get it." The American people have, for many reasons, decisively rejected the economic and political philosophies of the Republicans. Now the Democrats have an historic opportunity: they can either imitate the arrogance and slavish doctrinal adherence of the Republicans, or they can work with them to craft policies that will use the best of both liberal and conservative ideas to fix our many problems, rather than make them worse.

On this historic day, I wish President-elect Obama well. I think he is a good man with an opportunity to show that he can be a great man. It is up to him to rise to the occasion. It is up to the rest of us to support him.

I'm ready. Let's move confidently forward into a better future.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Election Day: Last Comments and Random Stuff

After almost two years of "debates," mudslinging, empty promises, half-truths, insults, Saturday Night Live appearances, vacuous (and endless) television ads, and aggravating robo-calls (19 of 20 calls on our answering machine yesterday were recorded political ads), it's almost over. This time tomorrow, either Senator Obama or Senator McCain will be figuring out how to redecorate the White House family quarters. Unless, of course, all those %&#$!@ lawyers both sides have hired decide to tie things up in bogus legalistic knots.

I'm ready for whatever. The bar is stocked, and I have several bottles of various headache remedies. I shouldn't feel this way, but I do. The polls open here in Virginia at 6:00 AM, just an hour from now. I'll be there, and wherever you live, you should be at the polls, too.

And that's enough about the election for today.

How about a few random things for a busy and historic day?

There's a very good article about blogging in Atlantic Monthly magazine this month. Andrew Sullivan's essay titled Why I Blog takes an interesting and wide-ranging look at why and how we blog, and why blogging "heralds a golden age for journalism." I feel better about all the time I spend on this blog.

The November issue of Playboy magazine (yes, I read it, but only for the pic ... uh ... articles) quotes the results of a survey of 30,000 men conducted by Cosmopolitan magazine which asked, "Which look on a woman gets you hot for her?" 67% chose "The Girl Next Door," 12% chose "The Wild Thing," another 12% chose "The Sex Bomb," and 9% opted for "The Ice Queen." It appears that a woman can optimize her chances of a date by dressing like the Wild Sex Bomb Next Door, and being standoffish. A separate statistic analyzes the hair color of the wives/companions of the world's 100 richest men: 62% were brunettes, 22% blondes, and 16% had black hair. None were redheads. Don't tell Agnes.

Just when you were finally coming to grips with Microsoft's Vista operating system, word comes that development is underway on "Windows 7" and "Windows Cloud" to replace it. Sigh.

Okay, that's enough for now. Time to get dressed, pack my lunch, my umbrella, and a few books (in case the lines are as long as predicted), and head for the polls. Make sure you do your duty today, too.

If you don't vote, I don't want to hear you grousing for the next four years about what you don't like.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo