Crass, yeah, but that’s the way one Dallas radio wag put it, and it made me giggle. Sue me.

I had the unusual opportunity to listen to half the debate on the radio, and then see the second half on the teevee. From this admittedly biased seat, I thought Governor Palin walked all over Senator Gasbag “Champ” McBlowhard. This comes from my utter distaste for long-lived senators and their overblown self-importance, as well as my salesman’s appreciation and respect for the presenter who can wink at the right times — I’m very clearly biased. But Palin sold herself tonight, and Joe Biden did everything he could not to fumble the ball while taking a knee to run out the clock. It was good offense against stifled defense.

The thing that blew me away, though, was the visual difference — Biden looked constipated and grievously pained to be subjected to such interrogatories, while Palin was clearly “just happy to be here, Chuck.” Maybe you prefer the cynical gravitas of 50 years in the Senate, but give me the eager, chipper go-getter any day. You can get a lot of good stuff done with eager.

Those who dig straight-up talk over stentorian droning will likely agree. Or not. It’s the race for the bucket of warm spit, after all, but I still want eager over stultifying.

These days I get up every morning and open up all the doors to get a cool breeze going through the office. So it wasn’t that big a surprise when a dang cat walked through from the garage, and gave me the stink-eye. Except the garage door isn’t up, so I guess he spent the night in there. God only knows what he tore up or crapped on.

But this is still South Texas (North Mexico?), so we get 90+ in the afternoons, and I have to crank up the AC. Being South Texas, too, I’m headed to an afternoon invitation-only customer-appreciation vendor event. In Dallas, this would be some ghey wine & cheese tasting deal where everybody showed off their ginormous watches and wore tassled slippers on their feet and talked about their new Krautmobile. Down here, it’s a dove hunt, with stocked coolers out in the field. Booze and shotguns…what could possibly go wrong?

Which, I haven’t shot a bird in durn near 30 years. I doubt I could hit the broad side of a barn, much less a dove on the wing. Shameful, really.