Fitzmas musings

Well, I must say the indictment of Scooter Libby made an otherwise ordinary fall Friday more pleasant. But I expected more. I was disappointed that they didn't go after Dick Cheney and even George himself, because these were the guys who masterminded the schemes and lies that led us into a tragic, useless war from which we cannot seem to extricate ourselves. Did someone mention treason?

I don't know if George can be repudiated much more than he already has been. Iraq. Katrina. Miers. Libby. The guy steps on his own dick at every turn. Almost everybody has seen through his shazaam by now. But I still don't trust the fucker. He reminds me of the scene in the Terminator where the monster just won't die.

The contractors provided lively background noise while I worked online all day. The lead guy calls me "Moik" in his thick Jersey accent. He's 45 and (proudly) confided that he has a 19 year old girlfriend. They've been dating for two years. He consulted his attorney when he first met her so he didn't get in trouble with the law. You learn way more than you want to know when your house is full of rockers.

Still, as I watched these guys drywall three rooms I was thankful I hadn't undertaken (word choice intentional) the job myself. You would have had to pay me three times what I paid them to do the work. And it would've come out looking like some of my other, um, handyman projects. Instead, the newly covered walls represent a corner being turned on this renovation. The final steps of putting-back-together have followed the destruction I wrought on this place last year. I'm starting to feel encouraged and am envisioning many happy summers ahead at the shore.