I think Bush is trying to put his followers through some sort of awful test, like Job, to see if they're true believers and how far he can go before they start to doubt him.

Because, otherwise, how to explain this? Right now? He couldn't wait until the heat died down a bit to help Halliburton? Not even a week or two?

Then again, I doubt his most ardent defenders are the ones who'd be affected by a stifled wage like that.

We were in Austin today, walking around Sunset Valley and we passed by a lady loading up her SUV (of course) at the Linen 'n Things and she had a "Bush '04" sticker on her car and it took a lot for me to not go up and ask her, politely and with genuine curiosity, if she still feels the same way about Bush as she did when the sticker was affixed. Maybe it's not even her sticker, or vehicle. I just wondered. "Do you feel the same? Is he making you upset? Do you still believe in him? Explain it to me. And don't use the word 'God' in your explanation."

So, about that wage story. I'd sigh about it, but I'm worried my mouth would open and I wouldn't ever stop.

(Link via This Is Not Over.)

A new Space Monkeys! comic is up, one that dually displays our love of low humor and linguistics.

On Digital Savant: The iPod Mini is dead, baby, dead.

On Videogamey: What's your favorite videogame of all time?

Miss Alli on the Bush response.

I watched those same comments on The Daily Show last night, as well as other news outlets (and read about the Barbara Bush thing, too), and it was like watching a bad Saturday Night Live sketch. I was too filled with disbelief to even be upset or outraged.

I think it's never been clearer who lives in a giant, hard plastic bubble, insulated from misery and strife.

The Bush bubble, at least, floats. That works out very well for them.

As if the hurricane victims haven't been through enough.

Jeez, Michael. Kick people while they're down, why don't you.

Oh, hell yeah. I'm bakin' now. I made divinity. I didn't even know what divinity was, but I made it. I had to ask Rebecca, "Is this what divinity looks like? All white and sticky?"

And then this weekend I made this mint chocolate three-layer cake. It rocked. People at work were like, "Damn, you be the BAKER now!" Only they said that in my head. When I had my eyes closed. At home. In bed.

Still.

Who whipped the whipping cream and peppermint extract into a light and liquidy frosting?

I did, motherfuckers.

I am the Maximus of 1/4-teaspoons measurements.

I rock the cake flour. I steal the soul of the baking powder and infuse it like alchemy into my desserts.

I kill your taste buds, fools.

They weep with praise for their new Lord and Master.

The Digital Savant tech help line is officially open. Maybe it should have been a Dr. Bombay-style tech support blog in the first place.

In this time of chaos and misery, I sincerely wish that in some way we could blame The Comeback for all the Hurricane Katrina troubles.

Because it would be the perfect scapegoat. It's just bad. And pretentious. And it wasted a whole season of my time, while I waited for some twist to justify all that viewing. The season finale not only thwarted those expectations, it went the lame predictable route of making Valerie the fame whore we already knew she was from the first five minutes of the first episode. Does she have principles? Does she have a shred of dignity? Is she someone we will ever care about on any human level? No, nope and nuh-uh. Second season? Hell to the naw.

This is a show that could have been cleverer and funnier, but it just isn't. And it was trying so hard and almost working for one or two episodes there, but the finale was just one big flat punchline that was meant to punctuate an entire season. But it didn't work. It really, really really didn't work.

And that's twice I've been stung by HBO. First time was K Street, which I watched all the way through, even as it turned into this bizarre accidental kinky sex death melodrama thing.

Mostly I'm just mad at myself because I watched these shows instead of Deadwood and The Wire.

But at least there's Rome, where a ton of stuff seems to happen every week and people still say anachronistic things like, "Kill two birds with one stone," which I'm sure as an expression existed at the time (though not in English in Italy), but whatever. In fact, I'm waiting for a "What-evah, Marc Antony!" and the inevitable, "Smell ya later, Brutus."

It's a testament to all the sex and swords on the show that the awful dialogue doesn't even matter. It's just cool to watch Romans fuck and scheme and stab each other in the throat and call each other "Plebs." That's good TV.

Well, decent TV.

Well, not as bad as The Comeback, at least.

Two conversations this weekend:

She: Our children are going to be short, hairy and blind.

He: But... um... they'll probably be kinda funny and smart.

She: They're going to have to compensate.

Later, at Schlitterbahn:

He: Is this right?

She: Mmmm?

He: All this water. Everyone from New Orleans is getting out and going to shelters and going, "Oh no, water!" And we're here in our tubes all, "Yay, water!" I feel a little guilty.

Assuaging the guilt a bit is finding opportunities to volunteer and TWOP's fundraising effort which at this point already accounts for $15,000 or almost 8 recaps to be determined. Thanks to all those folks generous enough to make that happen.