My moratorium on posting (due to life getting in the way) is taking a brief holiday, since being nudged by writerspleasure. I've actually spent the past few days memorizing a long block of text for an oral examination tomorrow night at the Lodge, where I will be taking my Second Degree in Freemasonry. I've long been fascinated by Freemasonry and, given my proclivities for all things old and murky, to have joined their company is a surprise and a pleasure. One thing I didn't expect is that I would have to memorize hundreds of words verbatim for moving up each level within the fraternity. Oh well.

But back to the post at hand: I've recently been feeding my infatuation with the works of the late and surely great Ian Hamilton Finlay, by searching through various sites and repositories of photos. And so, in the hopes that some of you might find his work interesting, I'd like to share some of them here.



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Lately -- "Walter Faber" in "Homo Faber: A Report".

We left Fukuoka and Kyūshū with regret disproportionate to the amount of time that we spent there. Somehow the area came to embody the Japan that we hoped existed but had never seen. Fukuoka combined our love of the perfectly fluid anonymity of Japanese urban life with the appreciation for the rustic and wild, in a friendlier package than we found anywhere else.

The Hikari Shinkansen took us under the sea and back to Kyoto Station. We were late getting to our ryokan because we had thought it was within walking distance, but in fact it was about a mile and a half away; not a problem when one is unencumbered by almost 100 pounds of luggage, but not an appealing option in these circumstances. We caught a cab.

The next day was all about K's pilgrimage to the spiritual home of all things Super Dollfie: Tenshi no Sato. I confess that I don't equally share her zeal for resin ball-jointed dolls (although I appreciate them to a degree, on an aesthetic level), but I looked forward to this visit, since the setting is remarkable: the turn-of-the-century former home and traditional garden of an illustrious painter named Takeuchi Seihō. Covering about 4 acres of Kyoto's suburbs, the garden's location is priceless. And what a garden it is!


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I've skipped a couple of days in Tokyo that didn't offer me many photo ops (Daikanyama, Nakano, Shimokitazawa, Setagaya), which were mostly spent searching for various record shops, zakka-ya, etc. One notable exception was an afternoon spent in Koishikawa Kōrakuen, a large nature park/traditional garden founded in 1629 by a son of Japan's first Shōgun. Although Koishikawa Kōrakuen is an important historic and cultural site, it was little peopled at the time, and blessedly free of gaijin (other than we two henna-gaijin). The weather was lovely, and we enjoyed a picnic overlooking the lake and its tiny island which, although inaccessible to humans, has a charming little Shinto shrine.


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Anyone who has looked at my so-called blog for any length of time is aware of my affinity for cemeteries; so it shouldn't surprise anyone to see me seeking out cemeteries in other countries. Japan has two kinds of cemeteries -- the traditional type on the grounds of Buddhist temples, and the Western import. And the earliest of the latter is Aoyama Reien, the first public cemetery in Japan; established in 1872. Taking up about 7 acres of prime Tokyo real estate, the cemetery is probably best known as a popular springtime Ohanami spot, due to the hundreds of cherry trees that line the roads and paths. The sakura were long bloomed-out, but there were other trees in bloom, as well as many flowers.



We selected a quiet, untended gravesite for our picnic, and were surprised to be joined by a large, friendly raven, who seemed to be interested in our food. I tossed him a piece of nattō sushi, more as a joke than an offering. He snatched it up and flew to a post a few feet away where he proceeded to eat the nattō out of the middle, leaving the rice and nori wrapper uneaten. It was a sticky, stringy mess, and the raven's determination to get it all lent it a dignified yet absurd air. We had a difficult time keeping our laughter down so as to not spook the raven. Then again, Aoyama Reien has a huge flock of ravens, and their incessant caws sound like macabre laughter.


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As has become a tradition for us, K and I spent my birthday in Japan. Or more accurately this year -- on our way to Japan, since my birthday (April 27) fell on the day of our departure. Consequently, it was only my birthday until about 5pm (San Francisco time) before we crossed the international dateline and the day was forever lost. On the other hand, I traveled over 5,000 miles, so it's also my longest birthday. We've been back for a week now, and the jet-lag has subsided to the point where I can string two sentences together, so here it is: Japan in 3 parts, at about 5 days per entry.

Sitting at SFO, waiting to board, I glimpsed Virgin Airlines' "Unicorn Chaser" across the tarmac. That is exactly what I need!


( warning: lots of photos ahead )

to Japan!



If anyone needs to reach me over the next 2+ weeks, they can send me a message through LJ or write to bricolage at mail dot com.

Ittekimasu!

Inspired by skank_all_day's recent post about visiting the Neptune Society Columbarium here in San Francisco, K. and I finally got around to visiting it ourselves. It's a rather odd thing that the two of us -- so into cemeteries and local history, and her having been born here, and I having lived here for the past 23 years -- hadn't visited it sooner, but there it is.

And there we were, last week on a lovely spring day. ( Read more... )

I'm beginning to recognize that any annual event has a lifespan that is usually past long before the organizers and attendees get the memo to that effect. Consider Burning Man. Founded 23 years ago as something interesting to do, it soon became redefined as a "counter-culture movement" before mutating into a commercial juggernaut and hippie Mardi Gras with its own orthodoxy and lingo.

I actually attended Burning Mans ("Men"?) numbers two and three, out on the north end of Baker Beach, near the nude area. They were diverting and improvisational, and not at all nude. I shudder to consider what it's turned into, but the fact that it's now intentionally held in one of the most inhospitable, bleak landscapes in the Lower 48 is sufficient to keep me ignorant of its "charms".

The first of any such event is chaotic, inspired, unique. The second year allows more preparation and greater ambition. The third year is the full flowering, but a few slack-jawed gawkers are certain to turn up and put everyone off a bit. By this time, the media will have caught on, which does no one any good but the ticket-sellers. From then on, it's usually all downhill.

When I first heard of The Edwardian Ball, I thought -- "genius!" I'd long been a fan of Edward Gorey (I once telephoned and told him this, even though that information did not seem to much impress him), and I think that the Edwardian era produced some fabulous fashions. Given that Gorey's constructed universe is vaguely set in that era, it seemed an inspired combination. And indeed, the first Ball was a delight. The second one was a mixed bag, although my suffering from a delirium-inducing cold didn't help. But we decided to give it one more try.
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I haven't been in love with San Francisco for a very long time. Perhaps love for a city cannot survive long when one is relentlessly faced with the sort of street life for which our neighborhood has become infamous.

But in my new spirit of attempting to focus on the positive, today I decided to try to seek out some of the City's redeeming features as I walked nine blocks of Post Street, from a block from where I live, to the foot of Post, at Market Street.

Traversing the Tenderloin/Nob Hill border, passing through Union Square (and past Prada, Tiffany, Cartier, etc.) and ending up in the Financial District -- all in just nine blocks -- gives one a sense of how extremely compact San Francisco is.

the Warrington Apartments building, with some fine detailing and a graceful circular staircase

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Normally, I go to lengths to avoid tourists or going anywhere or doing anything touristy. (After 23 years of living in San Francisco, this is almost a survival tactic.) In all that time, I had never set foot on the island of Alcatraz, a mile off-shore. When I worked nights on the WWII submarine at Pier 45, the island looked startlingly close across that stretch of water. Still, the prospect of being crowded onto it with thousands of tourists appealed to me only slightly more than doing time there. Nevertheless, Alcatraz holds a certain fascination for nearly everyone, and since Kelly had been given a pair of tickets, we decided to make the trip yesterday.

( I hope you have DSL, a cable modem or a T1 )

To any of you folks here in Sin City San Francisco: tomorrow (Sunday) afternoon at 3 is the annual Festival of Remembrance (otherwise known as "Poppy Day") at Grace Cathedral, atop Nob Hill. Pomp, ceremony, incense, a bagpipe and drum corps, representatives fromall branches of the US military (and our allies), a greeting from the Queen delivered by the British Consul General, great stories from WWII vets, a superlative military orchestra, military re-enacters, and tens of thousands of red poppies scattered from the peak of the Cathedral's ceiling and fluttering down upon the audience. Sublime! I blogged about it here last year. It's well worth the trip, and advisable to arrive at least an hour early for decent seats (it fills up quickly). The seats of choice are as far forward as possible, on the center aisle.

For those who have a taste for Mozart (me, not so much), the choir of men and boys and a full orchestra will be performing Mozart's Requiem Mass at 11am.

I feel rather like someone who's just had a tumor removed that's been growing in their gut for 8 years. I keep mentally pinching myself. Is it over yet? We've heard the concession speech, the acceptance speech, the analysis by Brooks & Shields, we've dabbed our eyes a few times, we're getting used to the incessant honking and whooping from out on the street. Is it over?

I admit that I was a late-adopter when it came to Obama (my ideal candidate would've actually have been a hybrid of Ron Paul and Dennis Kucinich). I was wary of the oratory, the narrative, the seeming lack of substance, the effusive media praise. But Obama steadily grew on me, and his candidacy was so preferable to that of McCain/PALIN as to be in another time zone.

So the campaign is over, the honeymoon is about to begin, followed by the period of disillusionment and eventually, the pragmatic dealing-with. Americans may soon be able to face their peers in other lands without handing out apologies and disclaimers. We may soon be dealing with just one war, not three. And oh, the novelty of a President smarter than most of us!

But for now, I just want to sleep for 8 weeks.

Tomorrow, voters in California will be faced with one of the most important electoral decisions in U.S. history. At stake is nothing less than the institution of marriage itself! On one side is a liberal effort to rewrite the definition of marriage to include spouses of the same sex. On the other side -- the defenders of traditional marriage. The choice is crystal clear: we must save marriage from those who would transform it into some bizarre, modern travesty. That is why I call upon you to vote for Proposition 8, to change the California State Constitution to allow marriage only between a man and a woman.

America is a nation of believers, a godly nation. And when godly people are in need of moral guidance, they turn to the infallible examples provided by their particular faiths. The Jews have the mighty men of the Old Testament, whose examples in marriage are still relevant today. The first great example is, of course, that of Adam himself; the first man. Adam's bride, Eve, was literally created out of his body! But despite her owing Adam her life, Eve sinned, causing the downfall of all mankind. Still, Adam stood with her through a marriage that lasted for over 900 years. (And by the way: the traditional 900th anniversary gift material is Kryptonite.)

Then there is the godly example of the Father of Israel himself, Abraham. Abraham and his wife Sarai were unable to conceive, so she generously gave her maid Hagar to Abraham, as a sex slave servant. Abraham's son Isaac followed in dad's footsteps with his wife's servant, although his grandson Jacob went one righteous step further, marrying two sisters and having sex with both of their maids as well (in an entirely godly manner). With the steadfast marriages like those of the Patriarchs of Israel, what better example might be desired?

Well, how about that of King David, with his eight wives and many other baby-mommas? Or better yet: Solomon, who is generally considered to have been the wisest of men? Solomon had no less than seven hundred wives, and three hundred concubines! (Concubines, for those unfamiliar with the job description, are sort of legal mistresses, or junior-wives -- a sort of sacred harem, or if you can imagine Hugh Hefner as a high priest.)

Christians are no less blessed with upstanding and practical examples of traditional marriage. Jesus himself may not have married (or did he?), but that didn't stop him from setting the perfect example for husbands, as well as occasionally providing bartending services at weddings. Jesus' judgment was likewise exemplary in other matters, from handling demonic possession to dealing with out-of-season fig trees. And the founder of the Catholic Church, Paul -- while himself a bachelor -- had only the soundest advice for success in marriage: utter silence and subjugation devotion from the godly wife.

Certainly, Islam is not to be left out! Muhammad knew more about traditional marriage than most, having been married to at least eleven women (that we know of). But even polygamists have favorites, and surely his was Aisha. No doubt she was the most virtuous of 6 year-old brides when they married (although, displaying godly patience, the 52 year-old Muhammad waited until she was 9 years old before he played "hide the salaam" with her). And since Muhammad was the perfect man and the perfect example, all Muslim men would do well to follow his example in this tradition of marriage that is no less than thirteen centuries old! It certainly worked for the Mormons, who are drawing upon their rich history of being persecuted for polygamy to bankroll Proposition 8 and defend marriage from being changed to benefit one small group.

Thirteen centuries is a good, long tradition, but certainly not as old as they come. The earliest recorded marriages occurred in Ancient Egypt, where the Pharaohs themselves entered into the holy bonds of matrimony. True, it was usually with their own sisters, but who are we to judge when traditions are at stake? We must dismiss as irrelevant the fact that men also married other men in Ancient Egypt; 4,500 years of tradition shouldn't count for some things. Nor should we pay any attention to the same-sex marriage traditions of Ming Dynasty China, nor of Classical Greece and Rome, nor of Sub-Saharan Africa, nor of Native American tribes, all of which stretch back many centuries, if not millennia.

No, we cannot consider them to be true "traditions", because they were not as we are: good, upstanding, god-fearing people. Who, throughout history, have sometimes preferred to marry more than one woman at a time. Who have traditionally left the selection of spouses up to the parents who traditionally used marriages to form strategic alliances, gain fortunes or engage in social climbing, and who have traditionally required "bride price" from the girl's parents. Who traditionally required wives to be totally subject to the whims wise and prudent leadership of the husband. And who have traditionally (indeed, until about 150 years ago), set the age of marriageability at twelve years old for girls.

Our beloved traditional marriage is under attack from those who would diminish the godly seriousness of an institution that we heterosexuals are entitled to enter into after drunkenly proposing to a stripper in Reno sober deliberation. Under attack from those who would use for their own political gain the quibbling detail that 4 out of 10 California marriages already end in divorce. And from those who would deny the right of husbands and wives to seek comfort outside of the marital bed, should it become necessary to do so. No, when it comes to traditional marriage, no threat is so real as the threat of extending it to include those who very likely could do a better job of marriage than we have. So please, Californians -- help save traditional marriage! When you vote tomorrow, remember the many centuries of proud and godly tradition that are at stake.

Given that Hallowe'en here in San Francisco was largely rained-out last night, and that none of the events available to us were overly compelling, we decided to stay home. While K. made a supremely excellent pumpkin curry, I carved a jack o'lantern with the face of an oni.



As the rain piddled down outside, we ate and watched an utterly fascinating documentary on PBS about the history and evolution of the mythical figures of Satan, the devil and other related archetypes.

Now, I consider myself to be relatively educated about Judeo-Christian mythology, but I learned more from this one hour presentation than I had ever known before about this particular aspect of it. It was noteworthy not only for its subject matter, but also in the way it demonstrated that the entire concept of dualism in Western religions is an artifact of Zoroastrianism, taken to a preposterous extreme.

Simply put: this one-hour show should be sufficient to cure any open-minded viewer of belief in Yahwehism.

Two things about the presentation itself struck me:

1. As a BBC presentation, it was probably aired during prime-time in Britain. That shouldn't be an amazing thing, but it is to this god-weary American.

2. The only way such a thing could be shown in the US is (a) on PBS and (b) in the context of Hallowe'en (any normal time would smack of blasphemy).

Thankfully, the show is on GoogleVideo, and can be watched in its entirety here. Hugely recommended!

...well, not perhaps ours personally, but we like to think of the Palace of the Legion of Honor as being the closest thing we have to a private museum. Today it was blessedly free of tourists and we had most of it to ourselves. Finally an excuse to try out the new (well, 40 year-old) Fléchet for Cardin hat and the '64 Worlds Fair neckerchief with a '60s Norfolk suit.

Cosmocorps and monorails are On The Heath, yo!


( onward and forward! )

At a store year or so ago, I picked up a used videocassette of a film from 1978 I'd never heard of before, due entirely to the fact that it starred Glenda Jackson. I have to admit that I haven't seen that many of the films she made before she retired, but I favorably remembered her performances in Ken Russell's "Women in Love" and "Salome's Last Dance", "Hopscotch" and "Turtle Diary". It wasn't until last night that I finally got around to watching the film, which was opaquely titled "Stevie".



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today, we took the ferry to Alameda for the monthly antiques & collectibles fair
the ferry afforded an uncommon view of the Bay Bridge,
an aesthetically underappreciated structure;
the Golden Gate Bridge's older but less celebrated sister

( forward! )

A few days ago, K. and I finally made it to the butterfly exhibit at San Francisco's Conservatory of Flowers, preceded by a lovely picnic in the Strybing Arboretum. The weather was flawless.
( documentation follows )

I owe Henry Miller a dollar for borrowing his phrase. Or, I could just watch "Henry & June" again, strictly for gratitude (and perhaps for the ethereal Maria de Medeiros). Either way, that's the mindset I'm working my way into right now. This pint of dunkelweissen is helping. So is the traditional Japanese breakfast K. fixed this morning. I was halfway through the natto and rice before I thought to myself "hey! -I should take a picture of this!"

Always merry and bright -- in breakfast form

I've spent the past 2 days trying to organize my storeroom. Five hundred square feet of all manner of things that've been thrown in there over the past few years.

• One disassembled motorcycle
  
• One disassembled Vespa
  
• A truck-load of lumber
  
• Stacks of hardware bits and pieces
  
• About 15 power tools
  
• Maybe 50 linear feet of magazines and books
  
• An entire mad scientist's laboratory-worth of old electrical gear
  
• A few organs
  
• 8 or 9 guitars and basses
  
• One cello, one vibraphone, one pair of tympani
  
• An old theater lighting control panel
  
• Stacks of LPs
  
• Too damned many toys from the '50s through '70s
  
• Empty Zero-Halliburton cases
  
• Probably 40 empty cardboard boxes; the relics of eBay purchases which may be pressed into future service for shipping stuff that I get rid of on eBay.

Speaking of eBay: in trying to organize the room, I found something I bought on eBay probably a year ago and promptly forgot, once it arrived: a "Benjamin Franklin clock". Apparently, Franklin believed that two hands on a clock were one too many, so he developed a clock with a single hand and a spiral face. This is a 1950s electric version of that design.


I have yet to figure out how to read it (I'll bet Whimsy knows how), but at least it's no longer in danger of being crushed by a falling stack of Lite-Brite boxes.

A couple of nights ago, we watched "Twin Falls, Idaho"; I'd not seen it before. Co-writers/directors/stars the Polish Twins were fantastic as the titular conjoined twins. I had mixed feelings about the film, but I was utterly charmed by their little song:

Finally, I had to share this incredible site. Be prepared to spend an hour navigating around its magical landscape (particularly the upper-right quadrant called "Park").

Can it really be almost 4 months since I've posted anything of substance?! It's not for lack of significant events in my life. I place the blame on having gradually accumulated membership in about 150 LJ Groups, which meant that I was having to spend a couple of hours on it every day just to keep up!

And so, overwhelmed by it all, one day I just walked away from LJ. Theoretically this freed up time for real-life projects. Indeed, I was able to finish some of the things I'd been tinkering with over the months, but at the same time, I started new projects. It seems that "real life" projects are just like having 150 LJ Groups on ones fList: they expand to fill whatever time is available.

It was my birthday back in late April; one of those that ends with a "5". Normally we would be in Japan, but finances dictated otherwise, so I decided to spend the day at two of my favorite local haunts: The Exploratorium and The Musée Mécanique. It was a fine, fine day. Here are a few video clips from it. I apologize for the distortion in some of the clips; I really must remember that my little pocket camera shouldn't be turned perpendicular when taking video clips. Also, your speakers should be turned down, as I have no control over the audio in the clips.

clip 1
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clip 5
clip 6
clip 7
clip 8

( cut for sad news )

Amazing.



In a million years (presuming we haven't killed them all off), flying fish will be building nests atop palm trees and begging handouts from picnickers on the beach.

In what continues to be an international black comedy, San Francisco's Mayor Gavin Newsom diverted the course of the long-anticipated running of the Olympic torch through town. Since I was already just a few blocks from the Embarcadero route, I decided, on a whim, to go check out the protest/counter-protest, if not the running of the torch. I made it to the Ferry Building at 1:00, supposedly the time that the running would begin. There were, I'd estimate, about 10,000 people, and the numbers (and voices) of the pro-Tibet faction hugely outnumbered the Chinese supporters. The atmosphere was testy; I saw a few shoving matches.
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Out and about, yesterday, Kelly threw together a quick picnic -- a "quicknic", if you will -- to enjoy a little hanami.


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Spent a delightful evening last night with guests of honor andrea_sperelli and videtur, visiting from Paris, and thedandiest, visiting from Portland (and his charming friend, whose name I'm afraid I've misplaced).
( see the rogues gallery )

Just got home from a lovely evening out with videtur and andrea_sperelli, simulacrum, missorangegirl, and my own kellyhime. The first two are visiting from Paris and videtur is showing andrea_sperelli around her old stomping grounds. I can't imagine two more interesting and gracious people; it's a delight to share their company.

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Every year the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco (well, one or two of them, anyway) have an event called "Bouquets to Art", in which local floral designers make up arrangements to compliment works of art in the museum(s). This year it was held at the de Young, the museum I blogged about here just last week. I feel a little silly doing a post about the same venue, although I don't think that more than one or two of the artworks are shown below. I felt even sillier navigating the crowds of Ladies Who Lunch, camera in hand, sorely testing my tolerance for slow-moving crowds and trying to hold my tiny camera still. But there we were, and here we are.

( for the curious, another image-heavy post )

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gabriel Voisin -- a man whose genius deserves to be wrested from obscurity and proclaimed from the highest towers, or at the very least, from this forum. For he was that 20th century rarity: a renaissance engineer. That is to say, he was a renaissance man whose métier was engineering, and the objects he set his mind to stand alone, above all others of their type. They were the pinnacle of refinement.



( be warned: very long, graphics-intensive post )

This afternoon, around 2 o'clock, I'm riding my old silver Vespa out Geary Boulevard to the inner Sunset District, to do some grocery shopping. Kelly is on the back. Traffic is heavy but steady. We're stopped at a light, in the left lane, behind a brown minivan. The light changes and we all accelerate down what is one of San Francisco's busiest streets. The next intersection is uncontrolled. We're doing about 30.

Suddenly, the minivan driver slams on his brakes. Immediately, I hit both brakes as hard as I dare without locking them up. Three thoughts flash through my mind: "he must be taking an emergency left; no escape that direction. Fast traffic in the lane to my right, so no escape there either. We're going to hit; better brace so neither of us goes off the scooter and gets hit by traffic."

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Every decade, it seems that San Francisco becomes embroiled in controversy over some new architectural project. In the 1970s, it was the TransAmerica Pyramid, in the '80s, the Marriott Hotel. In the '90s, it was the new Main Library (and the gutting of the old Main), and in the early part of this decade, Herzog & deMeuron's replacement for the seismically-damaged, 1920s Egyptian Revival-style de Young Museum was the focus of pitched battles, pro and con.

Many people disparaged the proposed building as an "aircraft carrier", a brutal hulk, an eyesore. I'm embarrassed to admit that I wrote a letter to the editor of a newspaper (which they printed), defending the architects, from whom I'd seen other good work, and suggesting that most of the building's critics were simply unaware of H&D's stature in the architecture world. How wrong I was.

The building is a failure on almost every level. The highly-touted copper cladding has yet to lose its harsh new surface, but even when it does and the verdigris supposedly helps integrate the building into the foliage behind it, it will still be a slab with clumsy articulation, an abysmal entry, vast wasted spaces within, and an unfathomably poorly laid-out traffic flow. The stairs between levels seem to have been designed by someone who had never measured an average stride, as they require an awkward 2-step gait. The 14-story observation tower is torqued because...well, because it makes a "visual statement", and all new architecture must do that. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that my faith in H&D was utterly misplaced.

But we're here for the art, not the ugly box it came in. After lunch, we scooted over to the Park and, after checking our helmets (did I mention that coat-check is on a different floor than the entry?), we headed up to the main galleries.

( warning: image heavy )

One thing has mystified me about Obama supporters, and it hit me particularly hard this afternoon as I was riding across town, and saw literally hundreds of Obama supporters standing on corners waving signs.

The usual reasons given for supporting Obama are as follows:

• Change
  
• Consistent opposition to the war
  
• Change
  
• Uncorrupted by money and corporate interests
  
• Hope, optimism, vision, and change again

OK, fair enough. Some Democrats feel burned by Clinton's votes on the war, on flag-burning, on the failure of her healthcare plan, her lack of consistent support for same-sex rights, and so on.

But there's another candidate whose opposition to the war has been even more consistent and lengthy than Obama. There's another who stands for a far more significant challenge to the status quo than does Obama. There's another who is even less corrupted by money and corporate power than Obama. This candidate has more experience as an elected official than Obama. This candidate even sought the impeachment of Dick Cheney, something that's both ethically correct and legally sound...but not supported by Obama.

The candidate I mentioned is Dennis Kucinich, who dropped out of the race last week. So why is it that Kucinich -- who is in just about every objective way ethically superior to Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton or John Edwards -- was not supported by countless thousands of enthusiastic young people the way that Obama is? My guess is that it can only be one or more of the following reasons: he's not as "sexy" as Obama, he's not as charismatic as Obama, and he's not black. Are "sexiness", charisma or any specific ethnicity qualifications for being President? I'd certainly hope that no one thinks they are. But I'm at a loss to understand this wave of Obama-worship otherwise. If it's positive change people wanted, Kucinich had it in spades over Obama, no pun intended. But folks just weren't buying.

It would seem that people on my side of the political spectrum (left of center) are just as easily swayed by image as the Republicans seven years ago who voted for Bush because "he seems like the kind of guy that you'd want to have a beer with". Obama wins the award for "the kind of guy that you'd want to have a stirring speech about change delivered by". Or, "it's about time that we had a black/Native American/Jewish/Asian/Hispanic President". Because I can find no other explanation for the fervor surrounding his campaign.

Can anyone enlighten me?