Fun Day in Chicago
But before I got to bed, I have this message for Mr. Andrew Fullen of the Chicago Ridge Dennys.

						
So it is over. Finished. In November, we'll be sending out our most liberal, least trustworthy candidate… to take on Hillary Clinton—perhaps not more liberal than Barack Obama, but certainly far less trustworthy.
And the worst part for the Right is that McCain will have won the nomination while ignoring, insulting and, as of this weekend, shamelessly lying about conservatives and conservatism.
You think he supported amnesty six months ago? You think he was squishy on tax cuts and judicial nominees before? Wait until he has the power to anger every conservative in America, and feel good about it.
Every day, he dreams of a world filled with happy Democrats and insulted Republicans. And he is, thanks to Florida, the presidential nominee of the Republican party.
Gordon B. Hinckley has died.
I used to see just about every movie ever released. I especially saw the "Oscar-worthy" ones, so I could look like an artiste with my fellow drama geeks. Now I have five children, and I no longer have the patience to watch movies I don't really like just so I can say I saw them. When a movie comes out that attracts a lot of attention because it's "important" or "groundbreaking," I usually give it a miss. Mrs. Cornell, however, had heard great things about Juno, and on her recommendation, we went and saw it last night.
(No politics today. I don't know anything you don't already know, and neither does anyone else.) 
I do have vague memories of seeing the series in its first run. My next door neighbor was into it, and I caught a few snippets here and there from the second season, the one with the hot shapeshifter chick with sideburns, pictured at left.
The plots seem to be taken from scripts that have been eaten through by moths. They strain at gnats as they explain the mind-numbing minutiae of their junk science, but then they swallow camels with plot lurches that come out of nowhere. In the second episode, Barbara Bain's husband returns from the dead in the middle of deep space, and nobody seems particularly surprised. (She doesn't, anyway. She greets the news with a blank, vaguely-concerned glazed stare.) He then warns them not to go the planet they've miraculously stumbled upon, which they do anyway, so everyone dies and the moon blows up.
As the moon draws closer to the black hole, Martin Landau and his sidekick with mutton chops, pictured left, who is not the previously mentioned hot sideburned chick pictured above, discuss the nature of God, or "cosmic intelligence." Then, when they get into the black hole, they lose their physical opacity and can see through themselves, which they find "interesting." They proceed to age about 2,000 years, when, as pruny geezers, they discover they can read each other's thoughts and learn that "each star is a cell in the brain of the universe." They then chat with God, who is female, and she tells them she thinks only once every thousand years, which, realistically, explains a lot. Then they find out they've made it through to the other side of the universe, and everything is back to normal, and the Eagle returns with a blank, vaguely-concerned blankly-staring Barbara Bain, even though the Eagle had been heading in the opposite direction.
In my decades' worth of meeting people from many different religious backgrounds, I have found that in every faith tradition-Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, what have you-there is roughly the same proportion of nice people and jerks. To this rule there is one conspicuous exception: Mormons. I have yet to meet a single Mormon who has been a jerk-and I have met many LDS believers. As someone who grew up in Rudy Giuliani's faith, and is now somewhere between Mike Huckabee's and John McCain's, I find Mitt Romney's religious background a factor that makes me more, rather than less, likely to vote for him.