It is a small state, but a delightful one–where, as it happens, I grew up.

Rhode Island makes the best lemonade in the world.

We enjoy tasty treats like coffee milk and johnnycakes. And if you are homesick, you can always order delicacies from the Ocean State, or attempt to prepare them yourself.

There are great beaches–and if you are peculiar enough to enjoy seafood, there are many fine spots to sample local traditions like clam cakes. (I do not care for them, but I am very much in the minority. The restaurants are nifty, in any case.)

You can get an excellent education, even though you may speak with an odd accent. Regardless, we tend to be a happy group of people, because things like this make us laugh our heads off.

Proms are held at fun places.

It is possible to watch the Baby Red Sox for less than ten dollars a ticket.

I learned how to ski in Rhode Island.

The mayor of Providence was my pal in high school. I hope he runs for governor, during the next election cycle–and have no doubt that he would win.

I love the way the state votes!

All Red Sox fans will know why I am pleased.  Very pleased.

 Now, it’s time to relax and enjoy the off-season.  Yay!

In fact, if he were running for President, I would probably be in Iowa (nah, more likely, New Hampshire–to try and get a little early season skiing in, too) at this very moment. 

 I was thinking about this because yesterday, oddly, when I mentioned that I was from Atlanta orginally, someone gave me a grim look and asked if that meant I was a Southern conservative.  This befuddled me, and I said, well, my positions line up almost identically with Russ Feingold’s, if that helps you.  Which it didn’t.  (The Senator likes guns more than I do, but that may be the difference between living in an urban area and a rural one.)

I wish Feingold had thrown his little hat in the ring, but I suppose–since he makes so damn much sense–that he wouldn’t have had a chance. 

For some reason, that area of the country produces some unusually interesting politicians, mostly notably Paul Wellstone–who left us far too soon, alas.  (Hubert Humphrey and Eugene McCarthy also hailed from that neck of the woods, although dare a former Southerner like me mention such a thing?)

This is a good book, but I resent the fact that liberals now feel compelled to call themselves Progressives.  It offends me that the word “liberal” has suddenly found itself ranked among the worst insults in the world.  (A cheery example I invariably use is, if someone has just offered you some absolutely fabulous homemade ice cream, would you want a liberal serving of it–or a conservative one?  Me, I want the big old liberal serving) 

Although I do prefer pragmatic liberals, to the outraged-to-the-point-of-hysteria version, who never manage to do much more than be annoying and shrill.

Insofar as the South goes, I miss good old-fashioned yellow dog Democrats. 

Joe Biden is still doing extremely well in the debates–entirely under the radar, in my opinion–but I really wish he had risen above the temptation to announce that he spoke to both Musharraf and Bhutto, before the President did.  It may be true, but it was unseemly to toss it into a debate, I thought. 

Then again, the debate–in general–was fairly unseemly, and not wildly interesting.  Hillary had a better night, but I’m still looking for some genuine leadership, and not the calculated caution.  Which doesn’t mean that John McCain shouldn’t be ashamed of himself for allowing this insult to go essentially unremarked.  (Had the woman who made the remark been slightly less smug in her own right, it might not have seemed quite as gratuitous and unpleasant.) 

Iowa polls to the contrary, Barack still seems to be in free-fall, and the debate didn’t help him at all, in my opinion.  This piece has to have Adlai Stevenson rolling over in his grave.   There is no question that both men are smart, but I didn’t find the article at all convincing, in its attempt to paint Barack as Adlai’s ineffectual heir.   

And this latest Beltway story is just odd.  (although, as usual, Senator Obama’s staff handled it poorly–which continues to make me really nervous.  He seems to surround himself with low-level minor league talent, at best–and I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking for that in our next President.  I want the best and brightest minds in the country to fill important positions in the next Administration–in extreme contrast to the current one.)

Ah, enough politics for now.  Except that I am reading this, and recommend it.  I think he is a much more interesting and ambitious novelist than he ever seems to get credit for being–possibly because he has the bad luck to share a last name with a cottage-industry, heavily ghostwritten thriller writer?  Anyway, I’m not always crazy about his courtroom books, but the political ones are nifty, and fun–yet, also well-researched. 

I am not sure whether I want to read this.  Back in college, I would have been eager to grab it immediately.  Now?  Alas, no. 

Saw Razor on 42nd Street this week, and enjoyed it.  (Here is a review with spoilers; click at your own risk.  I liked it better than he did, especially up on the big screen.  Here are some more spoilers)  I was afraid that there would be people in costumes everywhere, but it was an after-work crowd in business clothes.  Total Battlestar addicts–but, comfortingly non-geeky ones.

Sign Mike Lowell, already, Theo!

Stowe opened for the season.  Life is good.

To put it mildly.  Where to begin?  I could post about seven thousand links–but, I will be merciful, and keep myself to one two three four.

First

Second

Third

Fourth

And maybe I lied, because here’s one more, about The Guy Who Was My Favorite All Year Long.  Please sign him immediately, Theo.  And stay away from The Creepy One.  Please. 

Okay.  Deep breath.  (and, oddly enough, I am going to have so much more free time between now and next April.  Or, actually, until pitchers and catchers report in February.  What will I do with myself?  Oh. Right.  Work.)  I will also feel much less emotional turmoil–although, after tonight, I don’t think Red Sox fans are allowed to complain anymore.  Ever.  We still will, of course, because it’s our nature–but, we really shouldn’t. 

Well, okay, just one more.  Because I am weak. 

And in other news, this was pretty excellent, too.

Moving on now.  The end of the baseball season means that I will spend the next few months obsessing about politics.  For a change.  I’m starting to get the very strong sense that Obama is toast.  Part of me is disappointed, because I really wanted to fall in love with the guy as a candidate, but from the very beginning, it has always seemed as though he’s only running because he thinks he can maybe win the nomination–not because he wants to be the President. 

And we have someone who wants to be the President, and is actually prepared to do the job.  In the best of all possible worlds, I’d like the campaign to be joyful, but after the grim, glum nightmare of the current Administration, I think I’d be quite happy with calm, cool, collected competence.  There’s actually a lot of food for thought in this article, although it’s not exactly cheery.  I’ll back her all the way, though–especially since I think the prospect of Rudy in the White House is absolutely terrifying.

I’m not sure I recommend this novel, but I’m not too proud to admit that I am currently reading it and am reasonably entertained.  However, as soon as this Gerald Ford book is released, I’m going to grab it.

Starting tomorrow, I think I need to begin doing this and this.  Although I do not enjoy exercise for the sake of exercise–predictably, I only enjoy sports activites–it will be a pleasure.

I woke up very upset this morning, because I dreamed–in detail–that the Cleveland Indians had won the pennant, not Boston.  And I kept saying, “No, no, I was there. I know the Red Sox won.” And they (no, I don’t know who “they” were, but they were mean) kept looking at me with pity, and explaining that I had not, in fact, been at Games 6 & 7, and that the Red Sox had gone down in defeat.

It was quite dislocating, but I’m certain I was sitting in Fenway Park this weekend–mostly, in remarkably good seats. 

Exhibit A (sadly lacking the needed 2.8 aperture):

Exhibit B:

I can also attest to the fact that Greyhound buses are not particularly comfortable, and sometimes, people who ride on them overnight spend the next couple of days hunched over with unpleasant lower back spasms.

Is there something wrong with me if I think this is kind of weird?  Maybe it’s just as well that I didn’t move to Denver some years back, with the notion that I would ski every single possible day.  (I actually really like the area, and considered relocating quite seriously.)

And that I found this somewhat unsettling, too?  Possibly because, in almost every single case, the woman in question would be a better candidate than her husband. 

The Denver Post asks a pretty good question here.  I don’t know the answer.  Although this is kind of encouraging, and this is, too.  While I find this annoying.  And cloying.

I used to live in California.  I am very fond of California.  Let’s hope the winds finally stop blowing.  Scary stuff.