NP: Peter Gabriel, Up (CD)

Apparently, I have a habit, nervous or otherwise, of scratching the back of my neck. It's maybe more of a default stretch as I lean back from, say, a computer monitor, so it's fairly innocuous. The difference right now being that I keep coming in contact with a recently stitched patch of skin on my neck where a subcutaneous-but-otherwise-not-remarkable bit of something has been removed, and I keep pulling away like it's on fire, because if there's anything I'd rather not complicate, it's the healing process of particularly visible parts of the body.

Also, I seem to have regressed to my post-college employment habit of hoarding anything provided free of charge. Lately, it's been the Friday bagels in the office. I'm allegedly trying to cut down on those wacky complex carbs and all, but the bagels are FREE! Obviously, this is a holdover from severly limited cash flow over the last two years, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. As it stands, I have to undertake a massive effort to start buying drinks for the people who subsidized my recreational alcohol intake for the last twentysomething months. Good thing for me, I wasn't keeping track.

But this wasn't supposed to be about me, it was supposed to be about polka-dotted zebras (see page 2 of the article), a growing movement of extremism in the GOP that, if we're lucky, will coelesce into a viable third option neither Democrat nor Republican (see the last bit about Jeffords) and the painfully obvious (see what you want to see, and nothing else).