The GOP idea of reform eludes me. They bounce Tom DeLay, under indictment in Texas for campaign cash shenanigans, and go for a “reform” candidate to replace him. They elect as their new majority leader a guy who handed out checks from big tobacco on the House floor. Huh?

Yesterday, my friend Higgins amused me whilst we were talking the War on Terror. As you know, we’ve spent $300 billion on the Afghan and Iraq wars and Osama bin Laudin and his No. 2 are still making videos taunting Bush and America for our inability to position a drone Predator in a place that can kill them. Higgins shouted: Osama’s a CIA asset! He’s always been a CIA asset. How do you think they produce those videos?!? Lest you think Mike’s lost his mind, Osama was most certainly a CIA asset during the Russian occupation of Afghanistan. Lest you think he’s completely sane, if you follow his thinking then you must believe that the CIA knew of or participated in the 9-11 Twin Towers tragedy. Where you fall on that scale is a litmus test of paranoia. Of course, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they AREN’T out to get you. Hmmmmm.

I went to see Woody Allen’s “Match Point” Thursday night with a new friend, the formerly Goth Cindy. Saw her again last night at Paseo. The movie was good, but somehow didn’t meet my expectations. Very twisty at the end. I can’t tell you what the problem was, but there were times I thought it moved fairly slow. Formerly Goth Cindy gave me another lesson in male-female relationships. She’s talked both nights about her most recent X. When all topics lead to another man, it’s hard for me to get my mojo working. Something tells me: “move along. This is not the droid you’re looking for”. I’m OK with that. Hmmm. Now that I think about it, what other choice do I have?

Last night was gallery opening night, the first Friday of the month. Sorry to say, I didn’t see much that excited me. I wanted to buy a Denice Duong small piece at JRB, but grandma bought it out from under me. I was hoping to score a birthday present for Mom, who has her special day very soon. Oh, well.

Don’t know the band’s name I heard at G Spot late Friday, but the band and the art I looked at last night was parallel. Competent musicians. Technically very good. The young woman had a good voice, kind of sweet. They played a good bit of blues. However, there wasn’t anything blue about the blues as they played it. It was empty of the angst and troubles the blues is all about. Landscapes. Maybe good brush technique. Maybe even wonderfully photorealistic. No heart. No soul. No emotional tug, no intellectual challenge. Flat and empty.

NEWS FLASH: As I write, Sinatra has finally consented to poke his head out of doors. He’s exploring my front courtyard as I write this. He reports many new and interesting things to smell. Small things are moving. There is a tree. Film at 11.

Friday morning, went with The Gary to Norman to the funeral of Leslie’s husband, J.W. I’d met J.W. a few times, but I mostly went for her. Leslie is someone I’ve known literally 40 years. At one time, she was practically a fourth sister. The very first time I laid eyes on her, she was in the 7th grade and doing a poem for speech class, Lord Buckley’s “The Naz”. She did the same poem at the funeral. It’s the perfect piece for the daughter of a jazz musician. I love you, Leslie, and you are in my prayers.

NEWS FLASH: Magnolia trees drop mouse-size and shaped seed pods. They roll when you paw at them. They don’t smell like anything in the house. You can pick them up by the stem, as if the tail of a rodent. It’s fun to fool the human into opening and closing the sliding glass doors. Film at 11

Tonight, I’ll play poker with my buds and Sunday I’ve been invited to a Super Bowl party. It’s nice to have friends and things to do. My life is a pretty good life, all things considered. On the other hand, reality is setting in and blogging must cease while I do my chores: laundry, dishes, make the bed, go to the dry cleaners, hit the grocery store, blahblahblogblah.