In Which Your Humble Blogger looks at the trees, because frankly, the forest is making me a little nauseated.
In Which Your Humble Blogger attempts, dimly, to imagine what it would be like to be someone very different.
In Which Your Humble Blogger somehow forgets to point out that there are just a handful of people who are really good at this running-for-President business, and Barack Obama is much, much better than any of them, so perhaps the rest of us could, you know, shut up for a bit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger asks what Senator McCain knows and how he can unknow it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger restrains himself from, wait, no, not so much, I don’t, but other people can.
In Which Your Humble Blogger won’t get any further behind the convention. Wait, what, there’s another one? Oh, crap.
In Which Your Humble Blogger isn’t the only one running late.
In Which Your Humble Blogger breaks down the theater aspect of the convention, if not the convention aspect of the theater.
In Which Your Humble Blogger misses a lot, but does get to see one good barnburner.
In Which Your Humble Blogger can’t stay away.