In honor of Barack Obama's trip to New York — and our trip to his Tyra appearance (!!!!) — tomorrow, we're going to dedicate this sometimes-dour space to the Audacity of Hope. If a hundred thousand Burmese monks and Jenna Bush's single teenage mom friend in Panama can summon hope for a better life in spite of teargas and AIDS, and Bill O'Reilly can muster the hope for some decent service in a black neighborhood, then maybe hope hasn't entirely gone, you know, the way of my driver's license. And if Obama can raise more money than Clinton — and all the Republican candidates combined — maybe we're not alone in thinking that, well, if we can lose a few days of Paris Hilton coverage while she spends some QT with Rwandan genocide victims, well, she'll still be rich and they'll still be impoverished but maybe we can figure out how to salvage the American auto industry.
Maybe that's all you can do anyway, is hope; maybe that's why the strike ended and why Dodai and I are about to embark upon a search for true love at something called a "Man Harvest." And by "true love," I of course mean, "an amusing post, because that, in this life, is sometimes the best you're going to get."