While I lay on my bed most of the day yesterday, Sophie went off to her first day of Communicamp, Henry and Oliver went up in a World War II plane over Atlanta with my parents, and Obama came to town, grid-locking my neighborhood so that he could have dinner at Shonda's house. I'm not one of those folks who gripes and complains about the security apparatus that surrounds the president, figuring I'm just as complicit as the next American to have participated in this crazy system. I'm sort of grossed out by the money-making machine element of it all and feel sickened when I begin to think that it's all going to start again -- the right-wing crazies crying that we want our country back, the big Hollywood stars opening their mansions to the big donors, all the schmoozing, all the bullshit. But the traffic? The inconvenience of it? I admit it'd be nice if Obama didn't have to travel around in a line of enormous tinted windowed SUVs with the LAPD in full regalia, but what are you going to do? Then again, I wasn't in a car, inching down our little street, but rather sitting on the stoop, blowing my nose, still in my pajamas at 4 in the afternoon. I have a horrible cold, so horrible that I'm verging on a man cold, to tell you the truth, and need some sympathy.
