Another GOP congressman, Rep. Vito Fossella of NY, aka “Vino” Fossella, finds himself facing a small p.r. problem. This is getting to be old news, and I’m frankly growing weary of all the excuses to engage in schadenfreude over the exploits of these pillars of family values.

Once and for all, let those among us who have never gotten shit faced in a DC-area bar, driven drunk, been arrested for it, had our mistress (not our wife with whom we have three children) bail us out of jail, and then been forced to admit that we have a 3-year-old child with said mistress, cast the first stone.

Incoming!

I was at Pure Austin last night, trying to blow off some steam and work through my primary grief, despite the fact that I had hurt my right knee earlier in the day by slipping and falling at Whole Foods while trying to balance an assortment of two-bite cupcakes (not a pretty sight, as you can imagine).

The new sign in the women’s locker room is promoting a “bikini work-out” clinic, a cruel reminder to single female gym members (you know, the ones who work out in full make-up) that this may be the last summer for them to land a man before the dreaded ass-sag.

I ripped the blatantly sexist, not to mention poorly designed (come on, clip art of a firm butt?), sign off the door and marched/hobbled on my one good leg, to the front desk, where I slammed it down, interrupting the girls passing out the freakishly small hand towels that are supposed to pass for bath towels but instead just make you feel like you’re a hideous creature from Planet Fat.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I demanded.

One of the girls smiled. “Would you like to sign up?” She looked at me, frowning. “Unfortunately, ma’am, we can’t guarantee that your breasts will get any bigger.”

“NO, I’m not interested in this demoralizing clinic,” I responded, shaking my fist. “Telling us to get in ‘bikini-shape’ is an affront to women everywhere! I don’t see any ’speedo work-out’ clinics being offered for all the fat hairy men in here — like those guys,” I said, pointing over to the steriod-powered weight-lifting area.

The girl furrowed her brow. “You’re that same pushing-middle-age woman who complained about the strip tease class a few weeks ago, aren’t you? And, before that, the bride boot camp? And didn’t you tattle on some woman who was sitting in the sauna fully clothed, accusing us of contributing to the alleged drunkorexia epidemic sweeping this city?”

I grabbed the sign and tore it into pieces, realizing that I was the only woman still fighting for justice. I will be wearing a tankini this summer to do my part.

So I’ve been neglecting you! I’m GRIEVING. I think I’m somewhere in between denial and anger. It’s a painfully slow process.

It’s getting to the point where I forget which blog I’m blogging on. So here are my posts today on That Other Blog That You All Should Be Visiting So I Can Keep My Job And Buy You Presents.

White Lines (Don’t Do It)

In a much-buzzed about interview with USA TODAY (Clinton Makes Case for White Wide Appeal), Hillary cited an AP article that “found how Sen. Obama’s support among working, hard-working Americans, white Americans, is weakening again, and how whites in [Indiana and North Carolina] who had not completed college were supporting me.” She concluded, “I have a much broader base to build a winning coalition on.”

This is where I bury my face in my hands and shake my head.

STOP THE PRESSES

According to Politico.com, Barack Obama plans to declare victory on May 20. Meanwhile, Hillary plans to declare victory on May 19.

OH SHE IS SCRAPPY, that one.

Sorry for the delay in posting. (My God — is it 2PM already? Of course, in ITPT time, that means 1PM because I haven’t been able to figure out how to update blog time since daylight savings.) Since this week’s developments in the campaign, it’s harder to get up in the morning. In fact, sometimes I wake up grumpy. Sometimes I let him sleep. (OMG! LOL!)

Anyway, back in the ’60s, some chick named Elizabeth Kübler-Ross wrote a book on death and dying and the stages of grief, and, yes, she was the life of the party. However, since I am trying to work through my grief right now, I thought I’d see where I am on the scale.

1. Denial: When Hillary’s campaign started really going downhill (following her Ohio win? Texas? New Hampshire?), I remained confident that she could reverse the tailspin. She was my girl, and she would emerge triumphant, despite the number of delegates, Obama’s primary wins, and her husband’s descent into madness. Exhibit A: “Lately everyone has been giving me the pity face…”
2. Anger: I’m pretty sure I still haven’t left the “Denial” stage, but I did start to become somewhat testy (after Pennsylvania?). Exhibit A: “I mean, my God, can you imagine if someday I run for president and I have to explain my relationships with all of YOU?!” Exhibit B: “Now, the job of the campaign strategist is, essentially, to be the asshole that your candidate can’t be. You are the designated asshole.”
3. Bargaining: I began creating scenarios — if Obama’s the nominee, then I’ll support him. If Hillary bows out of the campaign, then I will totally nuke this blog. If I can’t stand the Democrats any longer, then I will become a Republican. Exhibit A: “I’ve started noticing my impatience toward ‘long-haired hippie freaks’ and ‘bleeding-heart liberals.’ As I drive around with my $4 latte, I roll my eyes at the ‘Yuppie scum off the East Side!’ graffiti near my neighborhood.” And don’t forget The Pledge.
4. Depression: I believe this is the stage that I’ve been stuck in since Tuesday wiped away most of my hopes and dreams. Exhibit A: “Honestly, it’s not that I care so much about the semi-tasteless jokes about Hillary. I mean, I can see why pundits are yukking it up over a horse being slaughtered after breaking her legs, while rich people sip their bourbon and the women shield their eyes with their stupid hats.”
5. Acceptance: Not. There. Yet.

HOW CAN I BE?! This is sheer torture for me. I’ve stood with Hillary longer than most of her campaign advisers. It’s like when you’re dreaming and you realize you’re dreaming and you want to wake up and then you freak out because you can’t wake yourself up.

I also have a recurring dream where I’m at a Joan Jett concert and she’s a no-show so I have to get on stage and perform “I Love Rock N Roll.” Another stage of grief not included in Kübler-Ross: pining for the ’80s.

As usual, when I find myself at a crossroads, I turn to… the Wilson sisters. Are there ever any answers to the tough questions they pose? For now, I’m off to the salon to get a perm.

Standing here helpless
Where do I go
if you leave me alone?
Where do I turn now
if it don’t work out?

As far as I can see
this isn’t the way
that you said it would be…

I am surprised I have the strength to write. I’m actually beginning to amaze myself.

First things first, congratulations to all the Obama supporters. He couldn’t have had a better night. Unless, of course, Hillary gave a concession speech instead of a “IT AIN’T OVER YET” speech. I’m not sure why Chris Matthews (yes, I was actually watching MSNBC, home to one of the least attractive panels ever) called it “charming.”

I suppose you could see it that way, despite the fact that she opened with, “Not too long ago, my opponent made a prediction… I would win Pennsylvania, he would win North Carolina and Indiana would be the tie-breaker. Well, tonight we’ve come from behind, we’ve broken the tie, and thanks to you it’s full speed on to the White House!”

Blink. Blink. Now, you know (oh? really?) Hillary’s my girl. But even I couldn’t help thinking, either she’s delusional, or she’s got something SO HUGE on Obama that it will knock the superdelegates for a loop (i.e. he’s gay; he really is Muslim; he fathered a black child).

Obama’s victory speech (in fact, I think he may still be talking if you want to catch it) was basically a carbon copy of every other speech (Xerox this!), but, as usual, he delivered it with such aplomb that no one seemed to mind, especially that big guy in a blue shirt, holding up a sign, flailing his arms, and pumping his fist.

And what was with the troll? DID YOU SEE THE TROLL LADY?!

Mr. PL, of course, ate it up, declaring to our friends, “Our Next President!” To which I responded, pointing to myself, “Your Ex-Wife!” (I’m not sure if this is even a valid threat anymore.) Paul Stekler, to his credit, didn’t gloat like I did two weeks ago at his house. However, when I told him that my birthday’s next week, he said, “What are you, 39?” I almost threw my glass of wine in his face, but you know how I hate to waste good wine.

So here we are. Last night was definitely a game-changer — will she? can she? should see? go on? The party is still split. She has the older vote, the blue-collar vote, the Hispanic vote, and (by a slimmer margin) the woman’s vote. He has the college-educated, Gucci- wearing, latte-drinking vote, the young vote, and the black vote.

Is there really any other way to unify the party than an Obama-Clinton ticket? Would she rather be the Senate Majority Leader? Or would she filibuster every bill from the White House? Stekler was convinced (after a few too many) that Obama will pick Clinton as his running mate. But not Hillary. Bill.

If you noticed Bill last night during Hillary’s speech, aside from the fact that his beet-red head looked like it might explode at any minute, he looked almost… disgusted. Like, I WOULD BE SO WINNING THIS. Unfortunately, Billy, you helped to undermine your wife’s campaign right from the start. You’s a dick.

You can imagine how conflicted I feel this morning. I have posted a sign on my office door saying “No Gloating.” I’m in here with the lights off, feeling sad, then angry, then exhausted, then hung-over. Which is to say, it’s like any other day.

If she’s still in it, am I still in it with her? Or, like most people today, do I think she should bow out gracefully? I will continue to ask myself questions (aloud, they already think I’m crazy) and will report back to you tomorrow.

Until then, seriously, congratulations.

(Cross-posted at Poll Dancing. Who here thinks that TM should just absorb In the Pink so I can stop assuming two personas?)

Sorry I’ve been away from the blog, but I finally made it to Indiana. OH I’M KIDDING! I mean North Carolina. OMG STOP IT!!

You’ve got 1.5 hours (if my mathematical calculations are correct) to vote for a free TM subscription. And I’ve got 1.5 hours to ply myself with enough Pinot to make it through the night.

Onward, Ho.

An official with the sheet metal workers union in Indiana this week praised Hillary Clinton for her “testicular fortitude” in stark contrast to her “Gucci wearing, latte-drinking” (NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT, takes another sip of delicious vanilla non-fat latte) opponents. James Carville, meanwhile, said that if Hillary “gave [Obama] one of her cojones, they’d both have two.” Ouch. (No, seriously. Ouch.)

Now, I could easily turn this post into a diatribe on our sexist society, and the fact that women have to act like men in order to get ahead, but I know you all are sick of that because I’m just a girl and I should OH MY GOD STOP TALKING.

So apparently, what this really comes down to is who’s got the bigger balls. And, despite what you think of Hillary and her campaign, you’ve got to admit… she does. You may accuse her of many things — negative ads, ruining the Democratic party, pulling out all the stops, including the BIG RED MISSILE in her nuclear arsenal — but in the end, Obama kind of looks like, well, you know.

(Oh, come on. I’d still vote for him. And I wouldn’t even HOLD MY NOSE to do it, you little martyrs.)

Of course, one could argue the underdog, be it man or woman, always has to be scrappier, tougher, and more confrontational than the frontrunner. It’s like little dogs versus big dogs (ANIMAL ANALOGY). Little dogs will bark and attempt to attack bigger dogs, biting at their ankles (while feeling completely humiliated because of the ridiculous plaid sweater forced on by the owner).

The big dog looks on with amusement, confident that the little dog can’t hurt him. But then he gets annoyed because the little dog isn’t going away and he starts snapping back.

Tonight may not change anything. Or it could change everything. Most likely scenario? Hillary wins Indiana by a good margin, Obama takes North Carolina by a tighter margin than polls have suggested. This means nothing changes. Or, Hillary wins Indiana and narrowly takes North Carolina, which changes everything.

YES, I know that Obama has the delegates. But the superdelegates are picking this nominee, whichever way you look at it, and if Hillary were to win both states (however doubtful), they’ll start getting real nervous about Obama in a general. And it would be more of an incentive to unleash the NUCLEAR OPTION and seat Florida and Michigan.

Now, if Obama wins Indiana and North Carolina, game over. But that probably won’t happen either. So we’ll be right back here tomorrow, suspended in time and space. You may find this hard to believe, but even I can’t bear to watch much longer.

I post this with some trepidation after PJunkie’s public attack on my mathematical skills. But here it is, all about Hillary and race and putting the filly down and how ‘Big Brown’ is quite the horse. - Ed. Note

It became clear a few months ago, when the field was winnowed to two, that the Democratic party was going to make history by nominating either a black man or a woman for president. Soon thereafter, Clinton surrogates began rather overtly playing the race card, suggesting that Obama was in the position he is only because he is black. The message was clear — don’t vote for Obama just because he is black.

While the Clinton campaign and HRC properly distanced themselves from Ferraro and her supporters’ remarks publicly, the damage was done. The whisper had gone out: Psssst, do you really want to trust the country and the leadership of the free world to a black guy? And the damage continued behind the scenes. We now know Clinton’s campaign staff had been pushing the Wright story hard to the superdelegates for months.

(They similarly have done so to the media with the William Ayers non-controversy, despite Hillary’s own questionable ties to the Black Panthers’ legal defense in the 60s and 70s.)

While those who raise the cry of McCarthyism over such tactics are probably overstating their case, it is certainly fair to ask the (here gender-corrected) question, as Joseph Welch famously did during those hearings, “Have you no sense of decency, madam? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?”

Well, no, not if you’re deep into what your own campaign terms a “kitchen sink strategy.” But of course if you’re a Clinton running for president, the kitchen sink is not enough — not if there’s a bidet also available, that is. And thus on top of the subtle, nearly silent, race card being played by the Clinton campaign, we have the very public and overt playing of the gender card. It’s not okay to vote for Obama because he’s black, but Hillary has made it all too clear that the electorate should endorse her because she is a woman.

This pander often takes the form of a plucky, good natured throw-away like how she should get “extra credit” because, as a woman, it takes her an hour longer to get ready each day. But the underlying meaning is not lost on the distaff portion of her audience. For the past week, the rhetorical vehicle of choice was the Kentucky Derby, as Hillary, in her best by-golly fashion, urged voters in Southern Indiana to think of her and put a couple bucks down on the filly this Saturday.

So, having taken a hard look at the respective delegate counts and upcoming primaries and their probable results, and therefore quite certain of the outcome of this nomination process, I found it, at once, fitting, prophetic and a bit sad that Eight Belles, the only filly running in the Derby Saturday, finished second, broke both her front ankles and had to be euthanized on the track immediately after the race. The winner? Well, Big Brown, of course.

It might be Indiana, it might be the last primary in South Dakota, it might be her contributors along the way, it might be the superdelegates, but sooner or later, somebody’s going to have to make the hard choice to put the filly in this presidential race out of her misery. Don’t fight the needle when your time comes, Hill. And, you’ve got to admit, that Big Brown, he’s quite a horse, isn’t he?

I hope you all are readying the bunkers.

According to HuffPost, the most credible website to date, Hillary is going to use the NUCLEAR OPTION in order to destroy Obama once and for all. The BIG BREAKING NEWS? Um, she’s going to try and seat those Florida and Michigan delegates.

Wow! I haven’t heard that before! Take cover! Save yourselves! This filly has gone nuclear!

Yes, the Clinton campaign has a “secret weapon” to build its delegate count. Half of the members on the Rules and Bylaws Committee are committed to Clinton, and the speculation is that the committee could ram through a decision to seat the unseated delegates. This could give Clinton an estimated 55 or more delegates than Obama.

We’re talking NUCLEAR WINTER here, people! Wake up and smell the radiation fall-out!

(Incidentally, after watching the movie “The Day After,” 1983, I was terrified of nuclear war and hardly left my house. I feel better now that Putin’s in charge.)

Vote.

My predictions for tomorrow, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Indiana: Hillary 48, Obama 43

North Carolina: Obama 49, Hillary 44

In a perfect world…

Indiana: Hillary 50, Obama 38

North Carolina: Hillary 49, Obama 42

LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT.

So on my way back from Houston Sunday (jealous?), reading the NY Times (of course), the first headline that caught my eye was “Triumph, and Then Tears, at the Derby.” No, I didn’t watch the Kentucky Derby Saturday. I was at a (two hour? three hour? no alcohol in sight) dance recital where all these little girls danced to Hannah Montana, despite the fact that she’s such a total slut.

Eight Belles, the only filly (girl) in the race, ran her heart out, came in second behind Big Brown, broke both of her front ankles, collapsed, and was “euthanized” (the polite way to say “killed”). Some people have compared the Derby to the presidential race and, this is wrong in so many ways (a dead filly? A Big Brown winner?) that I won’t even attempt to read into it (too late).

In fact, my own editor cranked out a quick post called “Neigh, She Can’t” and my colleague suggested the headline, “Hey, Eileen, who do y’all like for the Preakness?” Y’all? Come on.

Of course, they were referring to Mark Halperin’s “Department of Irony” bit (BIT! HA!) concerning Hillary’s pick of Eight Belles to win the race. Get it? Hillary compared herself to the horse, being the only woman in the race, and then she had to be put down! I bet Mark was “champing at the bit” (OMG! LOL!) to post that gem! I hope we’re not beating a dead horse here! Hilarious!

Here’s the thing. I felt sick to my stomach when I read about that horse. I really did. And I felt even worse after reading the accompanying NYT editorial:

Why do we keep giving thoroughbred horse racing a pass? Is it the tradition? The millions upon millions invested in the betting? Why isn’t there more pressure to put the sport of kings under the umbrella of animal cruelty?

The sport is at least as inhumane as greyhound racing and only a couple of steps removed from animal fighting. Within the racing industry, Eight Belles was a tragic but glorious casualty. The industry is in denial: racing grinds up horses, and we dress up the sport with large hats, mint juleps and string bands.

Why do we refuse to put the brutal game of racing in the realm of mistreatment of animals? At what point do we at least raise the question about the efficacy of thousand-pound horses racing at full throttle on spindly legs?

Eight Belles was another victim of a brutal sport that is carried, literally, on the backs of horses. Horsemen like to talk about their thoroughbreds and how they were born to run and live to run. The reality is that they are made to run, forced to run for profits they never see.

Honestly, it’s not that I care so much about the semi-tasteless jokes about Hillary. I mean, I can see why pundits are yukking it up over a horse being slaughtered after breaking her legs, while rich people sip their bourbon and the women shield their eyes with their stupid hats.

Poor Eight Belles. I’m not sure why I’m getting all emo-crazy over this horse. Or maybe I’m not sure why it’s never bothered me before.

In other equestrian news, CNN reported Sunday that Elizabeth Taylor of “National Velvet” endorsed Hillary. That’s sure to boost Hillary’s campaign since Taylor is such a respected politico. All eyes on Michael Jackson.

I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to the ITPT community-at-large. I have intimidated, cajoled, threatened, and bullied some of you in a desperate attempt to win you over to my side. I have become the worst kind of stalker. I am… a social networker.

After months of resisting networking sites, convinced that this whole ‘Internet’ thing was just a fad, I created a Facebook profile. Shortly thereafter, I became obsessed. I started checking my page every 20 minutes to see if anyone had accepted my friend requests. I searched for ex-boyfriends from high school and college who may not think of me as an ex-girlfriend — who may, in fact, not even know me — but WHATEVER.

I wrote on people’s walls. I browsed other people’s pages for “friends” I could add. I’ve changed my profile photo like 15 times, and lied about my education (I did not go to Yale, I went to Harvard).

It hasn’t stopped there. After Facebook, I signed up for LinkedIn and invited every single gmail contact I had. I’m basically spamming people. I keep checking how many people have viewed my profile. 18?! Just 18?! Don’t look at me, I’m hideous!

And then I joined something called Twitter, which seems like some kind of scary network where people with strange names “follow” you. What does this mean? I have no idea. But I’m on it. It actually doesn’t matter because I’ve already forgotten my username and password.

I can’t stop myself. It’s become like a sickness. I’ve since added myself to Classmates.com, Match, MySpace, Friendster (to keep in touch with my many friends in Southeast Asia), eHarmony, MyChurch, UltraEgypt, and, if I’m not mistaken, an International Prostitution Ring.

Be. My. Friend.

If your significant other / husband / wife / boyfriend / girlfriend / f*uck buddy / object of stalking were to give you a free pass to spend a night in the “fantasy suite” (Bachelor lingo), which celebrity would you give your key to?

As I posted at Poll Dancing (follow me there! follow me there!), when Hillary was asked who her fantasy date would be, she chose Abraham Lincoln. I said it was probably because of his formidable Lincoln Log. (OMG! LOL! I can’t wait until Mike Levy orders me to take that down!) Isn’t it kind of sick to pick a dead president?

Other than that, Mrs. Clinton, how was the sex?

If I had to pick a dead president for the fantasy suite, I think we all know who that would be. And I’m not talking James K. Polk…

Mint chip from Baskin Robbins was always my favorite. Be it ice cream cake, grasshopper pie, or clown cone.

If you missed this last night… classic.

If you’re a woman, and the comments about Barack vs. Hillary (commenter against commenter, brother against brother, husband against wife, and, the cruelest division of all because all they have is each other — desperate single woman against desperate single woman) have been making you emotional (i.e. screaming, shaking fists in anger, crying, maniacally laughing, filing divorce papers, canceling labia-shortening surgery), I have a simple explanation.

Your estrogen’s out of control, BABY!

According to a study conducted by University of Michigan researchers (whose votes will be chewed up and spit out due to an unjust primary calendar), estrogen “fuels feelings of power and competition in women” just like testosterone does for men. I knew it. My estrogen levels are dangerously low, which is why I lack the competitive gene.

OK, so maybe I’m just a little bit competitive. When I was little, I tried to save my Halloween candy until the following May so I could dig out my grocery bag of rotting candy from my closet in triumph because I had saved it longer than my sisters. I fought tooth and nail for the coveted role of narrator in our annual Christmas pageant at St. John’s (despite the fact that they had to equip me with a microphone because I was so soft-spoken).

In high school, I temporarily ruined my friendship with Smooch so I could make the freshman cheerleading squad, even though she was better. (Speaking of super-high estrogen, never go up against Smooch. Ever.) In college, I could perform a perfect keg stand, impressing all the boys and making myself the envy of all the girls, alcohol poisoning be damned.

As an adult, my competitive drive has decreased significantly, with one exception. This blog. Do you realize I’ve had this blog for over THREE YEARS?! It’s like I’m trying to be the oldest living blogger in the world. This blog has provided me with a much-needed outlet for ranting, arguing, pissing off, lying, spewing senseless rhetoric, listening to myself talk, making enemies, losing friends, attacking readers, and churning out the excess estrogen.

Oh don’t kid yourself. I’m not the only one. I love that you all remind me of my relatives at a family reunion, where we spend the better part of our quality time together arguing over who was the best Kennedy and questioning whether I really share their DNA.

(Sidebar: The past two posts have generated 200 comments and counting. And, despite the back and forth and bickering, I think we finally found common ground, something we can all agree on — Hillary will be the nominee.)

ZINGER!

While I was on Town Lake yesterday (I was the lightning-fast blur whizzing past you, knocking over innocent children because, really, what are children doing on Town Lake), I started thinking. Thinking about yesterday’s post, but mostly worrying about whether or not I TiVoed “Women’s Murder Club.”

In this corner: The REAL Blue, Jimbo, MajorMajor. In that corner: The Other Guy, Lurkette, Pinko Heart, Dukakis_in_a_Tank, West Texas Hillbilly, Outsider. (Yes, we’re outnumbered. Or else we’re just more polite. /What?)

About halfway through the comments, I swore off my own blog for the rest of the day. Usually it’s fun. Yesterday, not so much. It was one of those days that I wonder, why am I doing this again? Sure, the back and forth in the comments takes chutzpah and you’re putting yourself out there. But YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

With that said, this little blog is evidence enough that the Democrats are split. How could we not be? We have never seen a fight like this with so much at stake. And we’re all passionate about our candidates. And that’s a good thing. But what I see from some Obama supporters (and just scan the comments for the past six or so months if you don’t believe me) is dislike? hatred? homicidal tendencies? toward Hillary.

A sampling: Hillary “does the Republicans’ dirty work; chooses the low road; is lynching Obama; is opportunistic; is part of the problem; is a sore loser; is racist; is disingenuous (the total buzz word of this campaign); is a liar; is ruining the party; I’d rather eat glass than vote for Hillary; she’ll screw up the country; the Clintons should be drummed out of the country; her supporters are reactionary, racist idiots; it will take a sea change for me to vote for her; the Clintons should head back to the trailer; she looks great in pantsuits.”

(OK, I added that last one. But she does.)

I’ve never felt any animosity toward Obama. I’ve always felt that Hillary would be the stronger nominee and, more importantly, the more experienced and capable president. I’ve talked to several people who have told me that, no matter who’s the next president — Obama, Clinton, or McCain — they’ll be OK with it. Seriously. I kind of felt that way too. How could it be worse than the last eight years?

But then I think about Supreme Court nominations; Iraq; healthcare; foreign policy; the economy. He’d be an improvement over Bush, but I don’t want McCain in the White House.

If Obama is the nominee, I’ll vote for him and be fine with it. So let’s get this on the record:

If Hillary’s the nominee, will you vote for her?

I hadn’t heard anything about Jeremiah Wright’s latest, er, shenanigans because I was, er, convalescing. But let me first say, I don’t give one goddam America about Rev. Wright or what he has to say. I’m not sure why anyone’s paying attention, or why he was invited to speak at the National Press Club.

Here’s an excerpt:

In front of a cheering crowd of supporters that included a whistling Cornel West, [Wright] gave into temptation and lustily went after his critics. As soon as the questions began, he transformed into a defiant, derisive figure, snapping one-liners at the unfortunate moderator tasked with reading the questions and stepping back with a grin on his face after each one, clearly enjoying himself.

Could he explain the context behind the sermon he gave after September 11, 2001? “Have you heard the whole sermon? No? That nullifies that question.” How does he respond to critics who charge that he is unpatriotic? “How many years did Cheney serve?” Does the fact that Obama says he never heard Wright’s most controversial sermons mean he’s not much of a churchgoer? “He goes to church as much as you do. What did your pastor preach on last week?”

It continued through a defense of Louis Farrakhan and Wright’s insistence that the U.S. government may have introduced AIDS into the black community.

Yes, he’s a total sociopath with his own twisted agenda. And that’s hardly Obama’s fault. Right, Wright? The question is whether this will end up hurting Obama. At first I thought, no, people are sick of this so-called story. But now I’m beginning to think that voters who are already somewhat reluctant to vote for a black man will listen to Wright’s latest bigoted comments and change their minds.

Check out Howard Kurtz’s column, which summarizes what other newspapers and pundits are saying.

General consensus? This could hurt him, pledged delegates aside. I don’t think Wright could cost Obama the nomination, but I think he’s definitely doing his best.

I will be away from my laptop today because I’m “sick” but really because my sister’s in town and we’re heading to the “spa.” (Don’t tell Evan, he’ll be all, “You’re fired.”) I don’t know how many of you have seen THIS MONTH’S TEXAS MONTHLY but it’s a special Willie Nelson 75th Birthday issue and, wouldn’t you know it, we have an EXTRA SPECIAL Willie Nelson 75th Birthday section on texasmonthly.com. Even if you’re not a huge Willie fan, you should check it out because my salary is directly tied to the number of hits on the site.

Also, the current issue is totally open this month to non-subscribers because I’m trying to convince my bosses that no one charges for content online anymore and locking features down is un-American and goes against every editorial fiber in my body. So if this little experiment of mine doesn’t work out, they will never, ever listen to me ever again.

It’s actually pretty awesome. Mike Hall did a great job and we took some of his recorded interviews from the story and put the podcasts online. There’s one story from Robert Redford and I was all excited and asked Mike if he had Redford’s number and he was like, I’m not giving that to you, and I was like, why must you stand in the way of my happiness.

My Willie Nelson story: When we were little, my dad came home one night with two albums with this scary looking man on the cover. He told us he had invested in this country singer from *gasp* TEXAS and that we were going to make millions of dollars. He made us listen to these records non-stop until the IRS caught up with Willie and we lost our college funds.

Happy. Birthday. Willie.

The assistant high school football coach taught my geometry class. He compared everything to a football field. I was lucky to get through trig the next year without failing out and becoming a busboy at Chili’s. Truth be told, I was never good at math. Or, for that matter, science. Or, let’s be honest, history. In comparison, I was great at English. I believe I even broke 500 on my verbal SAT scores.

That said, the Hillary campaign is playing some very tricky math. According to their calculations, they’re ahead in the popular vote. If you include Michigan and Florida. But we all know that it’s not fair to include Michigan and Florida because they broke the rules — “they” meaning “state officials,” not “they” meaning “voters,” but the voters are really the ones being penalized and history won’t be kind to 48 states deciding the nominee but GO AHEAD and justify it in the comments.

And, if you do justify it in the comments, then why not a do-over? Why disenfranchise two states worth of voters because of the antiquated Democratic primary process? Why do fools fall in love?

Over the past few days, Hillary has met privately with uncommitted superdelegates to discuss electability and certain core voter blocs — blue-collars, oldies, women, Eileen — which the Democrats need to hold on to. A Michigan superdelegate and Hillary supporter, Joel Ferguson, Thursday filed an official complaint with the national party demanding that at least half of the state’s delegates be seated.

If Michigan and Florida are counted, Clinton nets more than 15 million votes while Obama has slightly fewer than 15 million. Without those states, Obama leads by roughly 500,000 votes.

So that’s where we are. Yes, nominees are decided by the number of delegates, not the popular vote. You can argue whether that’s fair or not. (Personally, I think we should operate under the “one voter, one vote” rule but I suppose that’s undemocratic of me.) Either way you look at it, 500,000 votes does not a mandate make.

Now I’m sure that some of you will accuse me of bias, and that if the situation was switched and it was Obama who won Michigan and Florida and was trying to get the delegates seated, I’d be all, “NO WAY THEY KNEW THE RULES.” I’d like to think I’d still have the same position — that the voters themselves deserve to be counted — but I’m not sure I could be that objective.

However, you all are much more open-minded than I am, and I’m sure you will completely concur with the thoughtful arguments I have laid out.