Palin's Wardrobe Malfunction

"All of my descamisados expect me to outshine the enemy, the aristocracy. I won't disappoint them." -- Eva Peron, as imagined by Andrew Lloyd Weber

I believe I've mentioned, I'm a proud Goodwill shopper, myself. So you'd think I'd be the last person to defend Palin's extreme makeover. But it's precisely because I dress like a nun from a liberal order that I defend Palin's astronomical clothing budget.

Because I don't want her job.

And a lot of the reason that I don't want her job -- and most of our nation's best and brightest don't want her job -- is because the scrutiny is way over the line. Especially for women. Especially on appearance.

I have a daughter who is smart and well-spoken and I don't tell her she could grow up to be president because I DON'T WISH THAT ON HER. No more than I would wish her to be a spokesmodel or newscaster or any other job that is contingent on remaining free of zits, panty lines or quadro-boob.

Much though I hate to admit it, I think it speaks to the sincerity of Palin's working class roots, and to the seriousness of the effort to ready her for world leadership, that she needed the Eliza Dolittle treatment. If we believe in meritocracy, if we don't want to be ruled by independently wealthy hobbyists, but by people who know what it is to live off their income, then we have to be willing to accept that the "packaging" of a candidate is a legitimate business expense.

Call her facile. Call her provincial. Call her a race-baiter. Call her a hate-monger. But don't tell me you'd like her better if, like Marge Simpson, she went home every evening and fashioned a new outfit out of the same Chanel suit.

Melancholie-ie-ie

I am no longer the angriest dog in the world. But I do have the blues. Oh, for every reason and no reason, like that time Lisa Simpson jammed with Bleeding Gums Murphy.

I guess I'm probably where I belong -- being in business for myself, I mean. I have a little bit of a problem with authority. And the arrangement gives me the flexibility to do stuff with the kids. But business is slow. So, that's great that I can take time off every now and again, but I'm scowling and preoccupied when I do. Girl has caught me a few times having arguments under my breath with people who aren't there.

Plus, with money tight, we're looking at a backyard sprinkler summer break for the kids. In another time, this would bring out the pioneer spirit in me -- Oh good, then we'll have time to go to the program at the library and finish that latch hook! But in my present mood, it just brings into sharp relief the limitations of our transient neighborhood and the kids therein.

So it was no good my checking in on the blog of my college bud Jenn. Jenn has real problems. She'll break your heart telling you about her real problems, because, unlike me, she's a real writer. I mean it. Check out her writing. Guarantee, it will @#$%!# you up. She is, to me, the Baudelaire of the mommy blog.

Reading her, I feel like, what I'm going through -- I've been telling myself it's PMS or anger or stress -- something that resolves or diminishes -- but it's not, is it? It's the times. I mean, our generation, but also our stage of life, but also where the country is -- it's hard. I mean it may be 100 degrees on my thermometer, but I'm here to tell you, it's winter.

On hyphenating

I have been reading the SWPL complete list and am definitely having one of those "It's true. We're so lame." Homer Simpson moments of embarrassed recognition.

I need to be busted out every day for something on this list. But I was hyping the virtues of hyphenating just this very day. The selling point? It makes you easier to find on search engines. Else how would anyone you knew from high school ever look you up? Which is another thing, apparently, that White people like.

Which Character on The Simpsons Are You?

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That's only because of the grounding I have in thermodynamics, hypermathematics and, of course, microcalifragalistics.