the tired mind

I'm watching beach volleyball, which is a sport that involves a lot of wedgies. Even women's gymnastics' uniforms are more like shields (what are they made of, titatium?). And spandex practically glows. But the little white bikinis with the mesh at the sides; it's underwear. Lucky for the athletes, they have nothing they could possibly want to hide.

The other channel I'm watching is showing X-Men, and I love it, I think because it involves wheelchairs and telepathy and Anna Paquin, who can't help but look smart on the screen.

I spent the weekend at Gram's. She is delightful, odd, trying, and incredibly tough. I only snapped at her once (now the trampoline final--who knew?) when she had CNN on and John McCain was feeding illusion gruel to the Saddleback Church audience at the expense of women and gay people and poor people. I really hate what he said, especially that he'd remove Ginsberg and Sueter and Breyer and Stevens from the Supreme Court. It was all about pandering to the anti-abortion beliefs and it incredibly irresponsible and demeaning and gross. But how rude it is to take out your political frustrations on your grandmother?

I wish I had a glass of milk. That's as profound as I am tonight.