Back in July 2004, when I was a (somewhat) younger political reporter, I was standing in the rafters of the old Fleet Bank Center in Boston listening to an unknown politician deliver a pretty extraordinary speech to the Democratic National Convention.
You'll get no argument from me that Hillary Clinton is a flawed candidate - stonewalling the release of those Goldman Sachs chats is merely Exhibit A - but when it comes to bull-slinging and empty sloganeering, she's no match for her self-righteous rival.
A major silver lining in this cruelest month of April is a lull between show business awards galas. The lack of gold plated statuettes being flung about mercifully allows many Americans to stand upright for the first time in months. It won't be long, however, before we once again are forced to wrap ourselves in industrial strength Saran wrap to avoid drowning in the leakage of enough weepy insincerity to fill Olympic sized swimming pools with an unending torrent of ego-splooey.
I didn't laugh when the cop pulled me over for rolling through a stop sign on a quiet residential street, and there was nothing funny about the $265 fine. But the next step, choosing a "traffic school," was a hoot.
I have seen humanity's future and it's cargo. Not shipping cargo, but being cargo. One cannot pick up the newspaper without discovering a new area of transportation where human control will soon be superfluous.
And once again America reaches for the Tylenol after wrenching its collective back recoiling from the wacky ugliness monopolizing the presidential election primary process, but this time, it's... the Democrats.