My old car, the Purple Hooter, gave me this vaguely uneasy feeling every time I drove faster than 70 miles per hour. It was the feeling that the car might, at any moment, without warning, explode. Over 70, and the wheel would start vibrating, and disturbing noises would begin to emerge from within, and it sounded like it was either going to explode or give birth to something evil.

I spent the first two days in my new car (The Watermelon, or, if you like, The Legendary Watermelon) driving in my usual gingerly fashion. Ever since the Hooter started acting like it was out to get me, I had developed a very Zen way of driving. I'd leave my house in plenty of time to get anywhere, and drive there at the posted speed limit or below, very much in the likeness of my own grandmother, who used to drive 35 mph on the freeway as a general rule. It was all very sensible and safe and to hell with that!

I've gradually begun finding out what The Legendary Watermelon (yes, I'll quit the theatrics eventually) can do. It corners beautifully, it accelerates in a peppy way, it can go at least 80 (85, 90...) without vibrating weirdly or making me fear for my life. It is the cutest, most zippy car to drive!

Anyway, I am glad I have this green-Bubble-Yum-smelling thing in my life, because otherwise, I am depressed. It took me a while to figure out what it is-- I couldn't really be this depressed about the election, could I?-- but that's exactly what it is. I am so depressed about the election.

The headline of the New York Times today was something about Bush's agenda, how the agenda was now moving forward. You know what the agenda is? Deficit spending, and war, and church and state becoming one, and the abolition of our civil rights, and Supreme Court justices who will overturn Roe v. Wade and take away gay rights and women's rights, and drilling for oil in wildlife refuges and fuck the environment and electrocute everyone and give everyone guns, and every single fucking depressing thing I can possibly think of.

I have friends who are Republican, and I can't understand. How can you support these things? I would really like to know. Maybe later. When I am somewhat calmer.

I want to curl up in a ball and cry and think about the fact that I'll be dead someday. I've been thinking about my own mortality to cheer myself up, because when I'm dead, at least the Republicans can't get me. Why can't the Democratic Party get its act together? I forget who said that it should be like shooting fish in a barrel to fight against the right wing, but they're right, it should be. Why isn't it?

Augh. I can't talk about it anymore. Just, for the love of god, people, please, vote in the next election. Stop with the apathy already, you're killing me.

See what happened there? I started out the entry in a good mood, and then I ended up in this bitter place of blackness. This is how it's been all day. It's not pretty.

I have a funny story for you though. I got to work today and my manager told me about this lady that tried to scam us today. Apparently, she came in with a traveler's check and tried to cash it. The first problem was, the check was a poor cut-and-paste job, obviously a photocopy and a phony. The second problem was, the name on the traveler's check was an Asian name, and the ID the woman presented had an Asian woman's picture on it-- only the woman who was trying to cash it was black.

The barista looked at the check, looked at the woman, looked at the picture, and called my manager over. She took one look and almost burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we can't accept this."

The lady looked indignant and asked, "Why not?"

"Well, this clearly isn't you in the picture."

"Yes it is! I've cut my hair cut since then!"

Hee. I love that line. "I've cut my hair since then." Can't you just imagine that salon? "Yes, I'd like to trim a little off the bottom, please, and I'd also like to become an Eskimo."

I don't know why my manager didn't call the cops on her con-artist ass. My manager did call other Starbuckses in the area to warn them about this woman's scam, but apparently she was too late, since one of these phony checks had already been cashed.

I don't know what's sadder, this woman's "Supercuts changed my ethnicity!" scam, or the fact that it actually worked.

In other news, Professor President has the latest copy of my thesis. I waffle back and forth between: "Wow, it's genius!" and, "My god, I am a talentless hack!" And of course, "Who cares, this country is going to hell!" but I covered that already.

It doesn't help that I've been getting "No-Thank-You Letters" from my latest submission wave. (It was Katie who said I should stop calling them "Rejections" because it was too depressing. She renamed them "No-Thank-You Letters" so that's what I've been calling them. I even changed the name on my file folder.)

Too long between successes and I begin to get fraught with self-doubt. Why are these people rejecting my work? It's because my work sucks, right? What if it does suck and nobody's telling me?

There are people whose work I look at and think, you know, you're trying as hard as you can, and I admire that, but you don't have that indefinable something. You don't have duende. And duende can't be manufactured. You either have it or you don't.

I guess I just wonder if I have it. If I do, all I need is persistence, and discipline, and patience, and faith that it will pay off. If I don't, I'm wasting my life, that's all.

Ugh, I think I'm in the place of black bitterness again. Jane, this is definitely where I get off of this crazy thing. I'm going to bed.