I'm hopeful for the outcome of the election but have reserved some of it out of fear that, against all reason, the current regime will prevail.

Of course the Palin pick was insulting, and the day that occurred I felt the same sucker punch we got in 2004. How arrogant they are!—whoever they are—McCain, Cheney, Rove, the entire party, pulling the strings. While she detours the country as the fundamentalist debutante, we are unapologetically and relentlessly subjected to the party's crazymaking. It takes a long time for the abused to flee the abuser, and I hope that this year is the year that the citizenry can finally brave the flight to reason.

I can say that I support Obama because he seems to be the candidate most likely to support policies that will help the United States develop, or the candidate who demonstrates an evidence-based and steady stance across the breadth of issues, or because electing an African American is historic and momentous. But it's more than that—it's that he, whether by skill or disposition, is an inspiring figure. When I listen to him speak, I feel not only hopeful for our presidency but also moved to act in my own life. And, feeling so inspired, I am elated at the prospect of, for once, a leader—someone to model for us, in the fundamental way parents model how to be a member of culture, how we could be civic-minded.

The city is again a jewel casket, the plump springtime hues dessicated and concentrated. Until yesterday the skies were clear and their most-effortful cerulean, against which the oranges and reds dappling the trees shocked the eyes and made us welcome the season. Then the rain. A dull gray is now the primary ambient cue, and we must look to the shiny black streets and rooftops to contrast the autumnal display.

If it weren't for the walks to and from work, I'd fret the missing of the season. Even with the exposure, my mind's processing seems stuck in some robust loop that overrides most sensation. I'm at a loss.

Nothing feels as good these days as staying home on a Saturday listening to the Swing Years and Beyond on NPR. Five hours of music from my grandma's youth to do quiet to.