Back with a moderate vengeance

Forty-eight hours from now, barring any delays, we should be reaching cruising altitude out of O'Hare. Forty-eight hours ago, we were about a half hour home from upstate New York (six hours from Oneonta to Portsmouth: not bad). I love being able to count the time by moments and milestones, and especially by journeys. Movement, trips, adventerous or otherwise. Layovers, observations, mental notes on the road. This is good. This is what helps me contextualize my life, and that's what I live for. I'm big on do-overs. I'm not particularly nostalgic, but you can learn a lot by checking the rearview.

The aftermath of Katrina is more than I can fathom. It's good that I have my outlets and bits of escapism. Otherwise, I'd fucking be out of control with all the pent up horror and rage I have. Frank Rich should be required Sunday reading for every American, but especially this past week. Kristof as well. This makes me sick. The great Tim Russert came as close as I've ever heard him to losing control while discussing the lack of accountibility with the I-Man this morning. This is spot-on. I could link on, but we all need to deal and find information and formulate opinions on our own. And my blood pressure level needs to drop.

Just get me to a clam boat and a cold Henry's Ale. Make the world go away.