I Feel His Pain

All day, since I first heard about Clinton's imminent bypass, I've felt twinges in my chest, though sometimes they go away and sometimes they seem to be in my side or in my neck. I walked to the bank and back this afternoon, which must be more than a mile, with part of it uphill. I didn't feel any pain or discomfort or sensation or a tingling or an itching then. I only feel pain, discomfort or sensation or tingling or itching or squeezing or tugging when I am sitting and thinking, which is not usually an aerobic act.

He's 58, Southern, blue collar, a former fat boy who loved bad food. Except for the promiscuity and historic political success -- perhaps "except" pulls a slightly longer train than that but I don't want to aggravate my twinges -- I am pretty much Clinton's doppelganger.

We both know what doppelganger means, I'll bet. We relish our mutual knowing.

Mirror, mirror on the wall/We Left Bush with a Surplus and Now What?

It's not an easy life being in sympathy with greatness. The road is getting bumpy. I take an aspirin every night.