Happy Birthday Charlie Parker.

Wow. Step up from Cheney though, no question.

[Update]: Oh no you di’int! Oh no you di’int!

Summer’s end draws near, and we’ve had a couple days of rain here. Today it’s just drizzling, like it was when I left the house yesterday morning. Of course, by the time I was halfway into the office, the rain had picked up, but I wasn’t feeling like wearing a raincoat. I mean, really, unless you have fenders, it’s just better to grin wildly and get into the puddle-stompin’ love of being soaked through and through.

Fenders, and a rack, are on the shopping list for this weekend, but it was nice not to have ‘em for a day. Ridin’ in the rain’s a good time. Hey hey hey, quit lookin’ at my gut, you might cut your eye on my abs of steel.

To which you might reply: “Looks like you steel got about 10-20 lbs of last winter left on ya.”

To which I might reply, “Good one. I saw what you did there.”

What else is in the news… ah, yes, watched Obama’s speech from his stadium concert, and I gotta say he’s in top form. Whatever questions I had about whether or not he was prepared to really take it to McCain have been answered, and I like the way he’s doing it.

I remember, probably with some missing and/or added details, an anecdote about Jerry Rice, as told by Ricky Watters. Ricky had just come to the Niners and was training with Jerry, doing Rice’s legendary workout, a brutal uphill run stretching over 4 miles. After a while, Ricky’s hurting but mostly keeping up with Jerry and mentions to their trainer (riding with them on a bike) that he’s in better shape than he thought he was. The trainer kinda laughs and says, “Yeah? Watch this. Hey Jerry! Afterburners!” Rice breaks into a sprint, blasts up the hill, and leaves a stunned Ricky Watters behind like he was standing still.

McCain’s been hanging within single digits for most of the summer, but I have a feeling we’re about to see Obama kick in the afterburners. We’ll see.

I got nothin’ else of consequence. Hoosaboot I shut up and play some music? Here’s Chicago punk rock legends Naked Raygun performing “Suspect Device” with the help of Stiff Little Fingers’ Jake Burns. Feels good, aye.

“How fuckin’ cool was that?!”

The life of a repo man is always intense.

The video that will crush Obama’s campaign. There better be some denouncing and rejecting, before this gets away from them.

Howard Wolfson is mad at Matthews and Olberman for noticing that he’s becoming one of Fox’s favorite Democrats.

Shortly afterward, he added, “Nobody has spent more time over the last two years attacking Democrats than Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews…”

Nobody’s spent more time attacking Democrats? Really? Howard, look around you. Do you know where you are? I admit that I don’t know exactly how many hours Chris and Keith have spent attacking Democrats over the last two years, but I do know that nobody spent more time attacking Democrats than the people you were sharing a studio with as those words left your pathetic, lying mouth.

“…and I’m just not going to get lectured on how to be a good Democrat from them.”

Well perhaps you’ll take this short lecture from one of the rank and file then, Howard: being the resident Fox News Democrat makes you a shitty Democrat, get it? Also: fuck you. You’re another piece of the institution that can’t be made irrelevant fast enough. Begone.

I eagerly anticipate reading this book. It sounds fascinating, and I’m already cranky enough that I’m not worried about “becoming” a pessimist about people. You say you have tales of selfish, ignorant narcissists operating high speed tanks? Bring it!

Dennis Perrin is watching the Democratic Convention, and makes a valid point in the midst of all the Blue Lovin’.

I’m happy that Michelle Obama found success in her life and loves her family, but why the fuck should I care? Her husband presumes to exert state control over me and mine, spending my tax dollars for expanded war in Afghanistan, continuing misery for the Palestinians, narco-war and repression in Colombia, among other wonderful projects, and I’m supposed to melt because his wife can read hackneyed, Hallmark copy from a teleprompter?