Here we are getting ready for the dog and bike parade, where neighbors decorate their small vehicles and ride past to celebrate our nation's birthday. And ice cream and hot dogs are provided!
My dog Pixie may wear her white summer frock, although she does have a pink linen number that matches my blog, and we just haven't decided. She has nothing red, white, and blue, being much more subtle than that in her fashion choices.
I haven't prepared a nice philosophical post for you, although I had hoped to. I bitch a lot about politics (hey, what about Palin? Can't stop grinning but need to know more), but I love this country and want to make it better. But I do have something to say to our dear elected officials. So, let's break for this message.
Dear President Obama and Vice President Biden,
I love you both. I really do, even though you, Joe Biden, come from the deregulated state of Delaware, where credit card companies have gathered and schemed to bankrupt me and many other fine Americans. I can forgive you for that if you work hard for me now. I do think you are trying your best.
Being in the lower lower middle class, I have no spare change. No one is promising to stimulate me. The measly amount you've added to my check each month doesn't buy dog food. And now I am paying (at least this one month anyway) 27.5 percent interest on money I borrowed from the usurers. That's my situation.
I love getting your email. I like it that you want to keep me apprised of your situation since we are all in this very big, very leaky boat together. Receiving your updates and watching your videos makes me feel as though we're friends. I don't mind that you ask me to tell my friends about your plans or attend block parties or contact my representatives.
But will you please stop asking me for money? Why don't you fine the people who got us into this mess, or cancel some of the pork, or cut some programs that are ridiculous, or - whatever. I gave you money I couldn't afford to give so that you could get this job. I've supported you all the way. Now you do your job with the money America has left, because I am tapped out. Scraping the bottom of the barrel. Doing without extras. Seeing no raise in sight.
Please don't stop writing. Just give me a break.
Thank you, Mr. President and Mr. Vice President.
Now for something completely different: