This is “old news” per se, but clearly indicative of where the DEM (Defeatist, Elitist Media) exist on the issue, both now and in the future.

WASHINGTON (AP) – President-elect Barack Obama called disclosures about Treasury choice Timothy Geithner’s tax problems an embarrassment Wednesday but said Geithner’s “innocent mistake” shouldn’t keep him from confirmation as the new administration’s top official in urgent efforts to revive the economy.

The revelations that Geithner had failed to pay $34,000 in taxes several years ago derailed Senate Democrats’ plans to speed him to confirmation by Inauguration Day, but senators in both parties said the information was unlikely to torpedo his chances in the end.

Obama had hoped for approval by Tuesday, but senators now have scheduled Geithner’s confirmation hearing for next Wednesday, with Senate debate and a vote sometime after that.

One Porta-Potty for every 600 persons. That’s the kindness you face when you decide to attend The Chosen One’s DC inauguration. Green? Not hardly; how about massively brown and yellow?

The UK Mail Online estimates the Obama Inauguration’s cost at 110-million British pounds. At today’s currency rate, that equals $160.1 million dollars:

Barack Obama’s inauguration is set to cost more than £100m making it the most expensive swearing-in ceremony in US history.

Oddly enough (imagine that!), Salon.com bitched about the unprecedented cost for GW Bush’s 2005 inauguration:

For the media, simply reporting on the cost of the inauguration proved to be a challenge. Most major outlets stuck to the lower, albeit still unprecedented, figure of $40 million, which the Presidential Inaugural Committee said it hopes to raise from private donors. But a more accurate figure may be $50 million.

So. Evidently an inauguration costing twice that is — no big deal.

Because, after all, The One is involved.

It is now 2,683 days since 9/11. President Bush has somehow managed to keep this country safe since then. I have to give props where props are due. This is not hypocritical; this is only truth. There were no homicide bombers. There were no mall bombers. There were no backpack tactical nukes detonated on our shores, no CBW weapons. The anthrax bomber (back in 2001) was, it turns out, a domestic scientist who is now dead.

I submit our nation is now, more than ever, a complete Pay To Play environment.

That is why both sides of the aisle aren’t predominantly disgusted or revulsed by the continuing corruption unearthed.

And why Our Side, the Conservatives, aren’t collectively Up In Arms.

As we expect them to be.

Because, existing in DC, they are already inculcated into the atmosphere of Lies, Corruption, Posturing, Politics, Subliminal Messages and Individual Survival.

It isn’t about you and me; it’s about Them as Politicians. And their continued Survival.

I’m thinking this: there isn’t anything left other than to suggest violent insurrection.

Come one, come all.

We are at a Crossroads. We have to fish or cut bait.

And now our adventure ends, for there is an ending to everything under God’s heavens.

Each time I get here, I find it more and more difficult to leave.  I have gotten to grow quite fond of this very small town of about 4,000 people.  Once a heavy fishing and logging town, those years are far behind though it tries to capitalize on them whenever possible.  It has always managed to endure through hard times and, yet while it has expanded a bit, it has never encountered what one would term an explosion of population.  That is both good and bad.  Good for the residents, bad for its economy.  The town has many shuttered businesses in its downtown area and, with the current economy what it is, the business people are suffering more.  Unemployment is high.  Since now and May of 2008, the last time we visited, even more businesses are gone.  Restaurants have changed although that in and of itself is encouraging.  At least they’re not all gone completely.

The town is, in general, liberal in leaning and yet rife with blue collar workers as well.  There still are fishermen left.  There still is a small harbor replete with multiple fishing boats that still fish.  It has a foghorn at the harbor mouth, red and green marker buoys in the channel.  There is a Coast Guard presence for a real purpose.  It is a town packed with real people unlike, in my opinion, its sister tourist town, Mendocino.  Mendocino is, don’t get me wrong, a gorgeous and quaint little town.  But, to me, though gorgeous, it’s false.  Too cute, unreal.  Everyone on vacation wants to go there and that is fine with me.  

The ocean has its grip on me as well.

As I write, a small black bird stands on the wooden railing along with his pal, a brown seagull.  Both are awaiting whatever I might spare: some bread, maybe a crumpled potato chip.

It the meantime, the waves crash, the rollers coming in a predictable and awesome series, never stopping.  Simply crashing.  Continuously.  It’s a stunning and gorgeous sight and I feel I could never tire of the sound.  The waves and the sounds are, to me, hypnotizing, mesmerizing.

I could just sit and watch the ocean, just watch it, listen to it, and never tire of it.

If I had my millions, I’d drop everything I was doing and buy a small home directly adjacent the sea, so I could watch and listen to my friend.

Time to go.  Checkout time is here.  Time to pack the car.

A very heavy sigh, this time.  

An ending.

At this time, I write in our ensconced room on Saturday night, with the deck door open so that we can hear the crashing winter waves.  I captured our sunset with my Sony A300 dSLR.  My wife is watching the first Harry Potter film (like most kids, she could watch every Harry Potter film every day, nonstop, from now to forever) on our portable DVD player whilst I tap out this post on the new PowerBook laptop.  God bless her.  What other wife would give her husband a present on her birthday?  This still befuddles me!

I took her, earlier today, to a local spa that offers any number of massage therapies.  We partook of a 1-hour Thai Herb Salt Scrub directly linked to a 90-minute deep tissue massage, separated by a wonderful and warming double-spray shower.  That equals, in essence, a full 2 1/2 hours of massage and it was — how shall I write this? — decadent.

Following that, I took her to a local showing of the Clint Eastwood directed-and-produced movie “Gran Torino.”  In my estimation, a shocking and yet very Eastwood-like film.  I was of two minds about the film; photographically and in terms of film stock, casual and almost disappointing.

I say this predicated upon the fact that I would like to see Hollywood hearken back to the days when its film stock was replete with saturation, sharpness, crispness, accentuated colors.

These days, the physical nature of film is, to me, predominantly disappointing.  Too washed out, too little access to the full palette of nature’s colors.  Too many purposeful pastels, too many nature colors, too much washed-out stock.  For whatever reason, these days, little thought is apparently given to the film stock utilized on the majority of movies shown.  

And, not knowing if this is a projection issue or an original issue: sharpness is, in general, very poor overall.  The overall experience of a movie suffers.

Or perhaps I am standing in a field all by myself: I would like nothing more than for future films to be sharper, higher in contrast, more saturated with color.

I attend a movie to not precisely experience a slice of dismal life in terms of display; I attend a movie so that it can manipulate me, to include, I should submit, the film stock or the video program as well.

I submit, further: you should attend Gran Torino for, I believe, it’s likely to be Clint Eastwood’s last captured performance.  At 78-years-of-age, he’s made this goal no secret.

The pizza’s been delivered.

The waves are crashing.

Time to eat.  Time to get off the internet.