I drove my wife to work this morning. We went down Congress and then cut over to 1st Street, which turns into Guadalupe. (As an aside, the people around here pronounce it GWAD-uuh-loop. In New Mexico, they pronounce it Gwah-tha-LOOP-eh. I prefer the NM pronunciation.) Anyway, the house of “Your Next President” is on Guadalupe. Usually, it’s quite uneventful passing by there. Very uneventful, in fact … kinda like Dubya’s term as Governor. Nothing much to brag about except the people he’s executed.

But today, what used to be a parking lot across the street was transformed into a sea of national and international news teams. Cameras everywhere focusing on nothing. People with pained looks on their faces milling about in the gloom of the morning haze. It made me want to get out and recite some Kerouac or something.

“And in Iowa, I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry. And don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear?”